


Straight Up and Bitter

by still_lycoris



Series: The Coffee Shop Liberator [1]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Coffee Shops, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon only went into the Liberator coffee shop to get out of the rain ... he didn't expect it to change his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Avon only went into the coffee shop because it started to rain.

He didn’t, on the whole, pay for coffee. What exactly was the point of paying a ridiculous amount for something that you could make more cheaply in your own house? Oh, some people wanted to add ridiculous sprinkles and syrups and God knew what else, but Avon had better things to do with his life than drink coffee that didn’t even taste like coffee any more.

But he didn’t want to get rained on. The heating in his flat wasn’t working properly – again – and it would take forever to dry out if he got wet. Better to buy a coffee now and stay warm in the shop for a little while.

He ducked into the place, not really paying much attention until he was inside. It was darker than he expected and it took him a moment to realise that it contained a log fire rather than sensible central heating. Obviously, it was one of those places that went for ambience rather than practicality. There was a jumble of tables that didn’t really match, one of which had a pile of newspapers on, apparently for anybody to take. 

The counter looked clean, at least. There was a glass container of cakes and a man leaning against it, doing a magic trick for two girls who were watching him avidly. Avon stared for a moment, then coughed pointedly. The man blinked, then smiled brightly. 

“Oh, hello! Do you want coffee?”

“Why else would I come into a coffee shop?” Avon couldn’t help asking. The man didn’t look at all perturbed by the rudeness. Probably he was the sort who heard so many insults that they all rolled off him.

“What would you like? We have everything! We have syrups, we have – ”

“I want coffee,” Avon interrupted. “ _Normal_ coffee. Black.”

The man gave him a sad look, as though Avon had personally kicked his puppy. He began to make the drink and Avon looked around, trying to find a menu to see how much he would be paying for this. To his irritation, there wasn’t anything obvious around that would tell him that. The little man happily pushed a mug at him that looked suspiciously like it might have just been pulled out from somewhere random.

“That’s two-fifty please.”

Avon ground his teeth and handed over the money. It was ridiculously expensive, as far as he was concerned, but he supposed he’d chosen that when he’d walked into this daft place. He took his coffee, grabbed a newspaper and found the darkest, quietest corner that he could to sit and read.

It wasn’t a terribly noisy place, that was something. There were quite a few people there, mostly chatting quietly, some reading the way Avon was. Personally, Avon thought it ought to be busier there but he supposed quite a few people would still be at work – if they had jobs.

He scowled at the thought. He couldn’t exactly say that he was sorry to have lost the job. It had been tedious and ridiculous and far beneath his intelligence level. But it was a little galling to be fired when you had been genuinely trying to help.

Although possibly, looking back, he shouldn’t have told his boss that an incompetent monkey could have worked out the solution to the problem. And following that up with suggesting that his boss had been too busy having sex with his secretary to be focused had also probably hadn’t been the best move.

Avon had a little trouble with keeping his mouth shut when people irritated him. This was why he had been fired from three jobs and asked politely to resign from two more. 

He sighed and wondered if there was any point looking at jobs pages in the other papers. It was probably sensible to get something small to tide him over – assuming there was anything that would hire him. He was generally over-qualified for everything and it was a little awkward when they asked why he had left his last job.

And now that Tynus had been arrested, he didn’t have anybody for a false reference either. Damn.

He had finished his coffee and it was still raining. Avon looked over at the counter. The little man had gone and now there was a blonde woman, prodding at the coffee machine with a screwdriver. Slightly curious, Avon got up and drifted over.

“What are you doing to it?”

“It’s broken,” the woman said, flashing a quick smile at him. “Again. Luckily, I’m fairly handy with this or all the profits would go to fixing it.”

Avon considered pointing out that fixing something that broke all the time was generally a false economy – better to put out the money for something that _didn’t_ break all the time – but before he could, the woman had prodded the innards of the machine again, put it down and then turned the it on. It whirred into life and the woman smiled.

“Vila! You can stop lazing around in the back, it’s working!”

She turned and directed the smile at Avon. It was a nice smile and Avon briefly considered flirting with her before deciding it was too much effort. 

“Well, if it’s fixed, I want another cup of coffee. Plain.”

She nodded her head and cheerfully began fixing him another mug. The other man – Vila, apparently – trotted out of the back and patted the coffee machine gently.

“You can always fix him. What would we do without you?”

“Make a less honest living, probably,” the woman responded, grinning a bit. Vila grinned back and shrugged in an innocent sort of way. Avon tuned him out and looked at the woman again. She was pushing the coffee towards him.

“One-fifty please.”

Avon blinked but kept his face completely smooth. He was quite happy to pay a pound less, it was her mistake, not his. Served them right for being stupid enough not to have an obvious menu. He handed her the money and slipped back to his seat, picking up another newspaper as he went. Quite a lot of other people were beginning to arrive now and Avon edged further back into his corner, determined to avoid all interaction with them if he possibly could. He glowered at the job section, dismissing most of the jobs as not worth his time. He would either have to settle for that or find someone else to fake a reference for him. Or find a job of a less reputable persuasion …

He sighed. It wasn’t exactly that he had any particular moral objection to the occasional bit of law breaking, particularly not if it was for personal gain, but he had rather hoped to leave that in his past. Some things were better left buried and that was one of those things. But if there was nothing else …

A sudden disturbance at the door made him look up. A man had just marched into the room, followed by a very attractive woman with short hair. She appeared to be trying to argue with him about something and the man seemed to be ignoring her. An uneasy stillness rippled through the customers. Apparently, this meant something to them.

“Everything all right?” Vila piped up, looking uneasy.

“Fine. Servalan is just leaving,” the man said clearly, moving behind the counter and patting him on the shoulder as he went past. He turned and looked at the woman who shook her head and sighed.

“Be reasonable, Blake. How long do you think that you can keep this place open? It’s a dream, that’s all. We’re offering you a more than reasonable sum – ”

“Which I choose not to accept,” Blake said clearly, putting his hands on the counter and glaring at her with cold eyes. “This is _my_ shop and I have _no_ intention of selling it to you or your people so you can turn it into some soulless place. Now please leave _my_ shop.”

This got applause from some of the patrons which Avon thought was rather pathetic. As speeches went, it wasn’t much of one. Servalan gave another expressive sigh.

“Keep thinking Blake,” she said. “Our offer will drop as … viability drops. You may regret your decision.”

She turned and swept gracefully out. Blake gave a soft sigh but smiled around at his apparently very supportive patrons. Avon wondered what that had been about. Obviously, someone wanted to buy this place out and no wonder. It _was_ a good spot. Blake would probably be more sensible to sell it, if he haggled now, he might be able to argue up the price, make more money. 

He had finished his coffee again. The rain had stopped but Avon was feeling a niggle of curiosity now. Blake and Jenna were talking in low voices and after a moment, he drifted up to the counter for the third time. Blake blinked at him and smiled a bright, disarming sort of smile.

“Hello. I haven’t seen you in here before, have I?”

“Black coffee,” Avon said, choosing not to become engaged. He was hoping to eavesdrop, not fake courtesy. Blake blinked in a mildly hurt sort of way and turned to the coffee machine while Avon feigned disinterest.

“She’ll come back,” Jenna said, obviously deciding to continue the conversation despite Avon’s presence. “People like her don’t give up, Blake.”

“Let her come back,” Blake said flatly. “The Liberator is mine, I will never sell her, especially not to someone like Servalan.”

Avon only just managed to stop himself snorting at the ridiculous anthropomorphisation. _Her?_ For God’s sake, it was a _shop_.

“Here you go. Two seventy-five.”

“ _What?!_ ” Avon stared at him. “Do you imbeciles realise that you’ve charged me _three_ different prices for the same drink?”

Blake blinked.

“Have we? Jenna, what did you charge?”

“One-fifty. Isn’t that right? It’s only black coffee … Vila must have served him the first time. Vila!”

Vila popped out from the back again, smiling genially.

“How much did you charge this man for coffee?”

“Oh … I forget,” Vila said brightly. “What did he have?”

“Plain black coffee,” Avon ground out. “You charged a pound more than she did!”

“Oh. Oops?”

“Vila,” Blake said in a mild sort of way. Vila sighed and moved over, reaching out and producing a pound coin out of Avon’s ear.

“Oh look,” he said. “There it is!”

Avon snatched the coin, resisting the urge to break the idiot’s fingers at the same time. He had a feeling that the little twit was lifting some of Blake’s profits – and apparently the fool was aware of it!

“Sorry about that,” Blake said comfortably. “Vila gets a bit distracted sometimes.”

“Perhaps if you were able to manage such a thing as a menu, this wouldn’t be such a problem,” Avon said tartly.

“We did have one,” Blake said, looking vaguely around. “I think Zen ate it … ”

Avon refused to ask what Zen was. He shook his head and took his coffee, deciding that he was going to get a free drink out of all this idiocy if nothing else.

“It didn’t occur to you to make a new one?” he asked coldly.

“More important things to sort out,” Blake said.

“Well, if that’s how you see the every day running of your business, perhaps you _should_ sell to Servalan,” Avon said waspishly.

Jenna scowled horribly but Blake absently flapped a hand and she stayed quiet, just glaring daggers. Blake was staring at him in a considering way which Avon was finding rather irritating. He finished his coffee and put the mug down with a clink, intending to stalk out and never set place in this ridiculous place again.

“Sounds like you’ve been coming to a lot of conclusions about my business,” Blake said pleasantly.

“Only that it’s run by idiots, lacks enterprise and is clearly wasting potential,” Avon said, unable to stop himself. Blake had asked after all. Not that Avon would usually let that prevent him speaking the truth anyway. He despised inefficiency and this was clearly ridiculous.

“Are you any good with finances?” Blake asked.

Avon wasn’t entirely sure what that had to do with anything he had just said. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Probably better than any of you,” he said.

“Good,” Blake said, apparently entirely unworried by Avon’s tone. “You can start tomorrow then. We need someone who can handle that side of the business, we’ve been letting it slide lately and with Servalan sniffing around, we could use everything all ship-shape.”

Avon gaped at him. So did Vila. Jenna shook her head slightly, a smile on her face and turned away, perhaps used to her boss showing signs of madness.

“Did you just … order me to do your finances?” Avon spluttered at last. It had been a long time since he’d felt quite so bewildered.

“Oh, I’ll pay you,” Blake said easily, as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

“How much?” Avon asked immediately.

“That depends on how useful you are.”

Avon stared at Blake for a long moment. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of any of this. Was Blake playing a game at Avon’s expense? Avon loathed people laughing at him. But if Blake _was_ offering money … this was as good a way as any to keep money coming in until he’d found something better.

“All right,” he said calmly. “I’ll be here tomorrow. You’d better have some sort of contract set out. And if you’re making fun of me, I will make you very, very sorry.”

“Understood,” Blake said calmly. “I’ll see you at nine. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Kerr Avon.”

“Nice to meet you, Kerr. I’m Roj Blake.”

“It’s Avon,” Avon informed him, collected his coat and left. He was still a little baffled by what had just happened, to say the least. Still. If Blake actually paid him what he was worth, it wouldn’t necessarily be too bad. Especially if Vila stayed away from him. Avon had serious suspicions about that little idiot.

The flat was as cold as he had been dreading. Avon didn’t bother turning on the light – it had taken to flickering anyway, another thing that needed sorting and that the incompetents who owned this place needed to sort out. He turned on his laptop and looked up Blake’s name and The Liberator. Quite a lot came up and Avon began sorting through it, sifting the useful information from the dross. Blake was apparently quite political – his name came up linked to various groups, some of which met in The Liberator on assorted nights. Avon rolled his eyes at that. There was no point trying to change the system, it was fundamentally what it was. The only thing you could do was live in it and get to the top if you could. Blake was obviously one of the delusionals who couldn’t see that.

He searched for Vila next and quickly discovered Vila Restal who had spent time in prison for theft. Avon wondered if Blake knew. Well, he’d seemed pretty unsurprised by the idea that Vila might have pocketed a pound.

Searching for Jenna, even when adding Blake’s name or The Liberator’s bought up nothing. He’d need a last name to get anything substantial for her. Well, at least he had something on Blake. He did still wonder how the man had got that shop though. He would have to ask – assuming that he cared.

With a low sigh, he turned the machine off and sat back in the dark. This was probably going to be troublesome … but he couldn’t help feeling flickers of interest. He wasn’t sure that he wanted that. Interest usually led to disappointment, or worse, involvement. He knew better than to care about people, it was always a mistake. It wasn’t a good idea to care about possessions either, except for keeping them safe. It was better not to care at all.

Well, he wouldn’t end up caring for these idiots, that was for sure. He would just get whatever job Blake wanted him to do done, sort out the accounts and get himself something better.

It would all work out fine.


	2. Chapter 2

Avon arrived at the Liberator dead on nine and blinked when he saw that it wasn’t actually open yet. Looking at the door, he noticed that a sign showing opening hours was conspicuously absent – another thing that Blake really ought to sort out. After a moment, he looked for a doorbell and when he couldn’t find one of those either, he tried peering around the side of the shop where he spotted a small door had been left open. Avon headed to the door and peered in, realising it let into what was clearly a back room, filled with various bits and pieces. As he stood, slightly hesitantly on the doorstep, a tall, heavy-set man walked in from the other room and frowned.

“Can I help you?”

“Blake wanted to see me,” Avon said coldly and was a bit irritated when the man immediately gave him a wide smile.

“Oh, he mentioned somebody would be coming! You’re Avon, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Olag Gan,” the man said. “I help out here. Blake said to send you up, said you were going to help with the accounts. We need someone to sort that out, it’s good that he found you. Go on, the stairs are just through there.”

Avon paused, briefly tempted to run away. But that would have looked foolish so he didn’t. Instead, he walked in and up the stairs that Gan had pointed out and found himself in a small, messy flat.

“Avon! Hello!”

Blake’s smile was beaming. Avon stared at him for a moment, not quite sure how to respond to this brightness. Blake just continued to smile.

“I’m glad you came. I’ve been getting the accounts out … I’m afraid they’re in a bit of a mess.”

“A bit of a mess …?” Avon repeated, looking at the pile of paper on the table.

“That pile is _definitely_ from this year,” Blake said. “I got a bit … um … well, busy. Anyway, it’s really time we got it sorted out. Quite a bit of it is on the computer, I understand most of that … that’s up on the laptop screen which is ... Zen’s sleeping on it.”

He moved over to the table and lifted a large white cat off a small laptop. The cat meowed grumpily as Blake put it down on the floor. Blake smiled brightly at Avon, who bit back numerous comments about Blake’s idiocy and looked at the piles of papers again.

“How much are you paying me for this?”

To his slight surprise, the sum Blake offered was above the minimum wage – in fact, it was rather generous. He raised an eyebrow, just to push a little but Blake just raised an eyebrow back.

“It’s more than fair, Avon. And you can have free coffee, of course.”

Avon shrugged and decided not to push the point. It _was_ more than fair, after all. He sat down at the table and the cat immediately leapt off the floor and curled up on his lap.

“Don’t worry about Zen,” Blake said easily. “He just likes to sleep on you, mostly. Orac’s out at the moment so you don’t have to worry about him either. I’ll be downstairs if you need any help with anything. Make sure Zen doesn’t come down though, he’s really not meant to come into the café.”

Before Avon could say anything – and he had plenty to say about Blake’s general incompetence and the assumption that Avon didn’t mind having a cat sleeping on him – the door was closed and Blake was gone. He glared for a few moments, then looked down at the cat, which was kneading very gently at his thighs, obviously checking that he was comfortable enough for it.

Anna had always loved cats. 

Avon swallowed and shoved the thought away quickly. He scratched the top of Zen’s head, then reached out for the laptop. Better to see what Blake had managed to organise before plunging into _that_ mess.

Soon, he was lost in it, even rather enjoying it. Bringing order to chaos was actually rather pleasant, even when the chaos was caused by other people being foolish. Blake had managed to leave everything so that he could reach it without disturbing the happily sleeping Zen and Avon allowed himself to become completely engrossed. He only came out of it when he realised someone was in the room with him.

She was tall and thin with dark hair and was giving him a look that Avon could only describe as suspicious. He widened his eyes slightly and stared back at her.

“You’re Avon,” she said coolly.

“I know,” he said. “Who are you?”

“My name is Cally. Blake sent me up to feed the cats.”

Avon wondered if she was Blake’s girlfriend. It was possible, although it was equally possible not, given that Blake had simply left him in here for three and a half hours, he seemed to be trusting to the point of stupidity. It was entirely possible that Cally just worked here – or was just a regular customer, come to that.

“Feed them then,” he said and deliberately turned back to the computer to show that he wasn’t interested in conversation. Zen slid off his lap and padded away, clearly willing to stir for a meal. Cally shouted the name “Orac!” a few times but there was no sign of the second cat. Cally didn’t seem too worried – but nor was she showing any signs of leaving. Avon found it faintly unnerving, having her staring at his back as he tried to concentrate. He suspected she was hoping he would ask why she was still there and so bit back the question and pretended that he hadn’t noticed.

“Blake is a very generous man,” Cally said abruptly.

“I’m sure he is,” Avon said coolly. Zen had finished eating and was climbing up his leg again, obviously intending to go straight back to sleep.

“Sometimes people try to take advantage of that.”

Avon turned to look at her and let his lip quirk, not quite a smile but something like it.

“I’m sure that they do.”

Cally smiled back at him, a sweet smile that didn’t match the cool hardness of her eyes at all.

“If you should think of trying such a thing, his friends shall make you very sorry.”

Avon grinned at her, seeing the surprise in her face as he did. He supposed she was expecting him to be either uncertain by the threat or to try and bluff it out. He had no intention of doing either. He _liked_ blunt honesty and saw no reason not to show that.

“I shall bear that in mind,” he said and turned back to the piles of paper, assuming the conversation was at an end. Cally lingered a moment longer, then gave a soft sigh, which could have meant anything.

“Blake says you should come downstairs and eat something,” she said and walked out of the room, closing the door with a click. Stubbornly, Avon stayed where he was, despite the fact that he was suddenly very aware of how hungry he was. He did _not_ come on command.

Besides, Zen had already gone back to sleep.

He worked for another half hour before he realised that he was going to start making mistakes if he didn’t eat. With a small sigh, he lifted Zen off his lap and put him down on the chair, then headed down the stairs, a little warily.

The café was busy, as it really should have been at this time of day. Blake was there, chatting with a customer. Vila was there too, fiddling with the coffee machine and looking slightly forlorn. Cally was on the customer side of the counter. She looked at Avon thoughtfully. Avon pretended not to notice and moved over to Vila.

“What sandwiches do you have here?”

“They’re in the cabinet,” Vila said. “Labelled and everything. Oh, why won’t this thing work, it was working a minute ago! Come on, you stupid thing!”

He thumped the top of the machine. Avon rolled his eyes.

“Yes, that will undoubtedly fix it. Why does Blake actually employ you?”

“Because I am charming and lovely,” Vila said immediately. “And all the women think I’m wonderful.”

“Real women or the ones that you’ve dreamed up?” Avon asked, eyeing the coffee machine. It looked overcomplicated to him. You could probably streamline the design easily, if you wanted to.

Of course, he didn’t want to. Obviously.

“Real ones,” Vila said, giving him a wide-eyed, hurt look which Avon was completely unmoved by. “I am very popular.”

“Naturally,” Avon said, growing bored of the conversation. “I want a black coffee. I believe the price is one pound fifty pence.”

Vila grinned at him, as though they were exchanging a joke of some kind. Avon turned away and went to investigate the sandwiches. The selection wasn’t bad, although he noticed a similar standard of hap-hazard pricing which was beginning to drive him mad about this place.

“Hello!” Blake was giving him that big, cheerful grin. “How’s it going up there?”

“Slowly,” Avon said. “Have you actually kept an eye on _any_ of your invoices since you began working here?”

“Of course!” Blake sounded hurt. “I have to fill in my tax forms, I know what I’m doing. It just gets a bit muddled sometimes.”

Avon rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“I don’t know how you can pay anything, your pricing system is rotten. Why is this sandwich apparently three pounds more expensive than that one? You can’t even blame it on your resident thief this time.”

Blake’s smile abruptly vanished and his eyes hardened. It was actually rather intimidating – or would have been to somebody else. Avon automatically locked his own face into a cold expression, as though there was nothing Blake could possibly do to frighten him.

“Don’t talk about Vila like that, please,” Blake said flatly. “He’s not a thief.”

“He went to prison for it, Blake – or did you forget to check that when you hired him?”

“No, I know what he went to prison for,” Blake said, voice getting colder now. “But everybody deserves a second chance and I am giving Vila his.”

“And he is rewarding you by stealing from you,” Avon said dryly. “Yes, I can see how well this second chance policy is going.”

“He didn’t steal from me,” Blake said and suddenly, he looked more relaxed again. “He stole from _you_. Which, admittedly, he shouldn’t have done and I have had a little chat with him about stealing from people just because he doesn’t like them. He won’t do it again. But it isn’t the same. The sandwich is on the house, by the way.”

He moved off to talk to someone who had just come in and Avon stared after him for a moment, feeling almost struck speechless. Blake was some sort of idiot, there was no other explanation for it.

“You see?” Cally said smoothly from behind him. “Blake likes to help people.”

She handed Avon the coffee that Vila had apparently made. He took it and sat down, deciding that the best thing to do was to ignore as many of these people as possible. To his great irritation, Cally followed him, sitting down and staring at him with those oddly intense eyes of hers. Avon deliberately didn’t meet them and began to eat the sandwich – which was, actually, a very good one.

“Gan makes them,” Cally said, as though he’d asked. “He makes the cakes too. Blake likes things to be home-made here. It makes them personal.”

Avon considered getting in to an argument about profit margins with her, then decided against it. Given that he hadn’t yet found the relevant documents that would give him the profit margins, it would be a foolish conversation.

Cally was still staring at him. It was rather disturbing and Avon tried to bite back the urge to tell her to stop it.

“Did you want something?” he asked instead, using his best cold-polite tone people usually realised meant he wanted them to go away.

“You’re not quite what I expected,” Cally said.

There was numerous responses to this, all of which Avon considered before he decided to stay silent. Cally watched him for a moment, obviously waiting to see if he was going to say anything to her, then shrugged her shoulders.

“You should be careful. The more you try to hide things, the more Blake will try to learn about you. He is like that.”

“I can’t decide if that’s a threat or something you think ought to be reassuring.”

“That depends on you,” Cally told him, then got up and walked back to the counter, engaging Vila in conversation. Avon finished his sandwich and coffee slowly, not quite sure what to make of it all. Perhaps this was going to be more trouble that it was worth. He didn’t take very kindly to threats, even veiled ones. But he did hate to leave a job unfinished and besides, leaving would look as though he were afraid. Avon never let anybody see when he was afraid.

Having finished eating, he gave Vila back his coffee mug and went back upstairs. Zen had crawled back onto the laptop and made very cross noises when Avon pried him off it.

“You are a ridiculous creature,” he informed the cat, idly placing it back on his lap. “I would sell you for parts.”

Zen purred contentedly and went straight back to sleep. Avon shook his head and returned to working.

He worked steadily until half past four, which was when Blake returned to the flat, carrying a small, wriggling kitten, whom he was scolding.

“ – bins is terrible behaviour and now you have to have a bath because you smell bad, no, don’t go and annoy Zen, he’s sleeping like a good cat, you’re going in the sink where you belong. Hello Avon. How’s the work going?”

He turned the tap on with one hand, hanging onto his kitten with the other. The kitten yowled and wriggled as Blake began to wash it, apparently immune to the scratching.

“Why do you own cats?” Avon asked, aware that the question sounded rather stupid but somehow unable to stop himself asking it.

“Pets are good for the soul,” Blake said, smiling at him as though the question wasn’t at all inane. “Although these two were both inherited, to tell the truth. Zen came with the place and Orac belonged to an old customer of mine. When he was dying, he asked me to take him and I could say no. I thought Zen might like a bit of company in any case, although Orac drives him wild – he’s a very bright little animal, always getting into things he shouldn’t.”

Avon shrugged and turned away to save his work. He felt that Blake’s appearance really meant it was home time, although he couldn’t say he was looking forward to it very much. Blake apparently favoured a warm flat – perhaps part of that was all the activity downstairs. It was full of vaguely interesting looking things too, Blake was obviously a collector type. Maybe gifts from customers. Although Avon usually loathed such sentiment, he couldn’t help feeling that there was something _friendly_ about this place, something warm and welcoming.

He frowned at the thought and stood up so abruptly that Zen fell off his lap with a protesting yowl. Blake gave him a reproving look which Avon ignored.

“I’m not completely finished,” he said. “It’s going to take weeks to sort this out to a decent standard, Blake.”

“Then it takes weeks,” Blake said, smiling again. “You’re welcome to come back tomorrow to carry on. I’m quite happy to employ you, Avon, at least for a while.”

Avon stared at him, not quite sure what to say. He felt as though there was something odd about all of this, something … unreal. You didn’t just get jobs by walking into coffee shops, it just wasn’t how life _worked_. And people _weren’t_ as nice as Blake seemed to be. There had to be something Blake wanted from him, something more than labour. He didn’t know what it was but this couldn’t be as it seemed. It just couldn’t.

“Well?” Blake asked, obviously feeling that Avon had been quiet for too long. “What do you say? I’ve got a proper contract made out, we can discuss how long it can be for. And I’ll pay you the money, you can be sure of that. I don’t cheat people.”

“What do you _want_ , Blake?” Avon decided bluntness was the way to go. “What is all of this really about?”

“It’s about me making sure that my business is safe,” Blake said, looking surprised that Avon would ask. “It’s about me sorting things out that need sorting. Why would it be about anything else?”

“How do you know you can trust me?”

Blake blinked, as though the question hadn’t occurred to him. He finally let go of Orac, who immediately streaked across the room and stared suspiciously at Avon, as though Avon might pounce on him and start washing him too.

“I suppose I don’t,” Blake said easily. “But currently, I’ve given you nothing with my bank account details on so really, all you can actually do is reveal how much I spent on coffee beans.”

“I could probably use some of the order numbers to extrapolate information,” Avon said, not quite sure why he was telling Blake this. “Huge amounts of personal information is slapped all over these. Anybody clever enough could work their way into your business accounts, find out about your money and how to move it around without much effort.”

“Well then, it’s a good job the person I’ve picked is willing to tell me that before doing it, isn’t it?” Blake said, smiling.

Avon couldn’t decide if he wanted to walk out and never speak to Blake again or strangle him before walking out. He wasn’t quite sure _why_ he was so annoyed, only that Blake’s easy, carefree attitude was making him want to break something.

“You’re an utter idiot,” he said. “You need to be saved from yourself.”

“So does that mean you’ll be back tomorrow?”

“Obviously.”

Blake beamed at him. Avon kept his face at its most impassive and went to pick up his coat.

“You don’t have to go,” Blake said. “Why not stay for a bit? I’m open late tonight, it’s the local Communist Society meeting. They won’t mind if you’re there, they never care about Vila and he’s usually there to try and cadge a free meal.”

“Communism is a flawed ideology,” Avon told him. “Impossible to sustain.”

“No, it’s not,” Blake said at once. “Not with the right people, the right ideals … ”

“I have no interest in staying, Blake. I will see you at nine o’clock tomorrow.”

He walked down the stairs, slightly perturbed when Vila gave him a cheery goodbye wave. It was raining again and Avon trudged home in it, more than a little bit confused by the day. The idea was in his head that possibly, however unlikely it might seem, Blake might be a good man and he wasn’t totally sure how he felt about that hypothesis. People _always_ had ulterior motives, were _always_ suspicious and greedy and would manipulate you till they got what they wanted. The only person he’d ever met who had been different was Anna …

Was Blake like Anna? It was a rather ridiculous thought. And yet, Anna had believed that people could be good. She had often teased him for his cynicism, told him that not everybody thought the way he did. Told him that she knew genuinely good people, even suggested that with a little time, he might be one of the genuinely good people …

But Anna was dead. And it was his fault.

The heating still wasn’t fixed and the blinking light was so annoying that he choose to leave it off again. He worked on the laptop for a while, still trying to get it as fast as he wanted it to be. It would help if he had better connections, help if this place wasn’t such a dump. Perhaps if he stretched this job with Blake out for a while, he might get another job quicker, might be able to find himself a better apartment. He was so tired of living in a place that smelt of cold and damp. Blake could probably be fooled into thinking the job needed stringing out, he was so ridiculously trusting …

He found it difficult to sleep that night. When he finally dozed off, he dreamed uneasy dreams of cuddling cats and Blake smiling at him in a faintly patronising and yet strangely reassuring way.

He wasn’t sure what to make of that.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day went much the same as the first one. The day after that was the same. The day after that, Avon stopped thinking about it. It was just the routine, like in any other job.

He arrived at nine and either entered through the side door or the front door, depending on if Blake was opening at a sensible time or not. He got on with cataloguing and organising the paperwork, making sure that everything was where it ought to be, tracking down anomalies and trying to work out what things Blake had managed to lose before Avon had come along. Sometimes, he went to ask Blake where he’d lost things, sometimes he just marked them as absent and moved on. He usually had a free lunch in the café, then worked until the afternoon.

His day invariably ended with Blake inviting him to stay to do something. Sometimes it was because there was something happening in The Liberator, sometimes it was because Blake was apparently doing something and thought that Avon might like to do it as well. He didn’t seem to translate Avon’s testy refusals into rebuffs, just smiled and said maybe Avon might like to come along next time.

“You do realise that I am not actually your friend?” Avon pointed out irritably after Blake invited him to go to the cinema with him and Jenna. “I am just your employee.”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t be both,” Blake said with a shrug.

“Never make friends with your employees, Blake.”

“Why not? People like to be friends, Avon. They like to feel valued.”

“Then give them a raise,” Avon said, partly irritated by the conversation but finding that he was also partly enjoying it. “You can’t just be everybody’s friend. What if you have to fire them?”

“I’ve never had to fire anybody,” Blake said comfortably. “Probably because they’re my friends as well as colleagues.”

Avon found that he had numerous answers to this, most of which he disregarded as being petty, inane or pointless. Sometimes, it wasn’t worth fighting with Blake, he just put on his most placid smile and deflected your points until Avon wanted to throw something at his head. It was probably foolish, but sometimes he just wanted to make the man _angry_.

“I will see you tomorrow, Blake.”

“See you tomorrow,” Blake said cheerfully.

Avon headed down the stairs, shaking his head. He didn’t like to admit it but Blake was … well, baffling to him. He found that he wanted to understand the man better, although he wasn’t sure that he was ever going to manage it. He supposed he could ask Blake questions straight-out – Blake might even answer them, he wasn’t like Avon in that regard – but he was loathe to show _Blake_ that he was interested.

Rather than go straight back to his flat, he went to lurk in the library for a few hours. The librarians were quite used to him by now, although Avon had an irritated idea that they considered him to be some sort of down and out – they kept smiling at him and asking how he was doing. Avon stubbornly refused to answer any of them. The last thing he had ever needed was pity.

Out of some sort of misplaced desire to bore himself silly, he was reading the crime section in alphabetical order. Crime novels were, he had to admit, rather fun, but only if you had a fair shot at working out the murderer and he was beginning to feel quite annoyed with the amount of books that didn’t give you this pleasure. Avon quite liked solving mysteries. It was probably one of the reasons he was still prodding away at Blake.

“Is this really what you’d rather be doing than coming to the cinema with us?”

He jumped and was furious at himself for doing it. Jenna was peering over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he snapped at her and then felt stupid. It was a public library, there was no reason to suspect Blake’s friends didn’t read. Jenna gave him a patronising look and didn’t bother to answer, instead choosing to talk about something different.

“That one’s terrible, I wouldn’t bother finishing it, it’s not worth it. You should come to the cinema with us, at least that way Blake might stop asking you.”

“It’s not my fault that your boyfriend is such an idiot that he asks other men on dates with you,” Avon said, hoping for a reaction. Jenna just rolled her eyes.

“He’s not my boyfriend, he’s just a friend. He wants to be _your_ friend and he’s going to needle away until you give in. You might as well save yourself the resistance time.”

Avon wondered if she was trying to manipulate him. Certainly what she’d said made him want to resist Blake’s “needling” all the more. Was that what she had in mind? Or was she genuine? It was a little hard to tell sometimes with Jenna. She wasn’t as wide-eyed and idealistic as Blake, that was for sure. But she did seem to genuinely like the fool, even if they apparently weren’t dating which was hardly a mark of good character.

“Give it up,” Jenna advised him. “And come out to the cinema once in a while! Or better yet, stay for something in the café and annoy him so much that he empties a bottle of milk over you, we could all use a good laugh.”

She walked away before Avon could give into temptation and ask if Blake ever _had_ emptied a bottle of milk over someone. He wouldn’t put it past Blake. Not that he could judge, he had once poured a glass of wine over somebody. He regretted it now, it had been a waste of an excellent drink.

Stubbornly, he continued to read the book and was deeply irritated when Jenna was proved right. He wondered if Jenna had told Blake about finding him in here. Not that it really mattered if she had, it wasn’t as though he’d lied and claimed he was doing something else. It was none of Blake’s business what he did, as he had tried to explain before. If he wanted to sit in the library until closing time, that was entirely his affair.

Annoyingly, he found himself fretting over it long after he’d returned home. He didn’t like the idea of Blake and Jenna discussing him while they were out, couldn’t stop thinking about what they might say. Were they laughing at him? Or pitying him? Trying to work him out, as though they could possibly understand anything? None of the options were very pleasant and he found himself trying to plan for any eventuality, trying to work out exactly what he could say to Blake the next day, depending on what Blake first said to _him_.

He slept badly and arrived at The Liberator feeling extremely testy. The side door was open and Gan was there, making the sandwiches and looking rather anxious.

“You couldn’t let me know if Blake’s all right, could you? He’s not been down yet.”

Slightly curious, Avon headed up the stairs, opening the door. He was immediately met by a furiously meowing Orac and Zen wasn’t too far behind, making small, grumpy noises, indicating that he was feeling as neglected as Orac.

“Blake?” he called, a surge of unease hitting him which was immediately assuaged when Blake’s voice weakly answered “In the bathroom.”

He was curled up with a blanket around him, his usually springy curls looking remarkably droopy. His face was greyish and he tried to smile.

“What did you eat?” Avon asked. 

“Seafood,” Blake said. “Not a mistake I shall repeat. You couldn’t feed the cats, could you? And then maybe kick Orac out? His yowling is driving me crazy.”

Avon fed the cats and banished Orac before getting Blake a glass of water and some painkillers. Blake managed a weak but definite grin.

“I’m all right now,” he said. “I am. Just … need a bit of sleep. Preferably not on a bathroom floor! Can you let Gan know that I’m not going to be there? And that Jenna probably won’t be either, we ate the same thing. Cally might be able to cover for her … ”

He struggled to his feet and without really thinking about it, Avon grabbed his arm. Blake took his as an invitation to lean on him, holding on tightly. With a shrug, Avon helped him to his bedroom, taking the opportunity to have a quick look around. It was like the rest of Blake’s flat, cluttered and full of random objects that doubtless had stories behind almost all of them.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Blake muttered, snuggling down between the sheets. “Thank you, Avon.”

Avon shrugged, feeling rather strange. He hadn’t looked after anybody who was sick for a long time. He felt faintly as though he ought to say something comforting but he didn’t know what.

“Go to sleep, Blake,” he settled for and Blake gave a small laugh. His eyes were already closed. Avon left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Zen was lying on his chair expectantly, obviously feeling that Avon was taking far too long to get to the part of the day where Zen could sit.

“Don’t you do anything but sleep?” he asked the cat before walking downstairs to let Gan know about Blake and probably Jenna.

“Poor Blake,” Gan said, looking anxious. “Is he all right? He hardly ever gets sick.”

“He’s sick, what do you expect him to be?” Avon asked, somehow annoyed by Gan’s concern, although he didn’t know why. “Go and ask him if you care so much. I have work to get on with.”

He returned upstairs but found that his concentration was off, to say the least. He couldn’t stop thinking about Blake sleeping in the other room. He wasn’t sure exactly why it bothered him so, although it occurred to him that perhaps it was simply because he hadn’t been around another sleeping human for a long while. There was something weirdly intimate about it that he wasn’t comfortable with, particularly as the person sleeping was Blake.

He was playing a word game on the computer when he heard footsteps on the stairs and quickly brought up a spreadsheet, trying to look completely involved.

“Avon?”

It was Vila, sounding frazzled.

“Avon, can you do something with the coffee machine? It’s broken again and I can’t make it work and Jenna’s off sick and Cally’s gone out for lunch and she doesn’t really do electronics anyway and there’s a load of customers all staring at me and Avalon wants a pumpkin chai latte and I can’t make one of those without the machine!”

Avon stared at him, waiting for the flow of chatter to subside. Vila finally stumbled into silence and stared at him pleadingly in a way that Avon found rather annoying.

“Why on earth do you thin I can help you fix your coffee machine?” he asked.

Vila moaned.

“Because you can do electricy things, can’t you? You’re supposed to be smart, you know stuff! You can do it, right?”

“Possibly,” Avon said, rather enjoying seeing Vila grovel. “Why should I?”

“Because I need you!”

“I don’t see why your need constitutes a good reason for me to waste my time.”

“I will do anything you ask,” Vila said and Avon raised an eyebrow. He was half-tempted to accept just on the basis of that and have some fun seeing what he could get Vila to do. But at the same time, it seemed rather a waste of effort as he was pretty certain Blake would take it badly if he was _too_ cruel.

“You can pay me some of your money for the day,” he said, gently lifting Zen off his lap. “Depending on how long this nonsense takes.”

“You’re a cold, unfeeling man,” Vila informed him but he didn’t say no. Avon followed him down the stairs, noticing that the café was rather busy today. Several people were standing at the counter, looking faintly annoyed.

“It’s okay, Avon’s going to fix it,” Vila said. Avon wondered what on earth he’d done to inspire such total confidence. Not that it was unwarranted confidence, naturally, but it was still rather surprising.

He started by checking all the important parts, investigating the plug, then the cable, then the connections. A few wriggles and twists and it was working again, although Avon could see that it wouldn’t continue to do so for long. It was clearly worn out, needed more fixing than Avon could give it right now.

But it was at least working and Vila was serving the customers with obvious relief. Avon stayed to watch, a little curious about what a pumpkin chai latte actually was. Maybe he ought to try harder with the machine.

“Thanks Avon, you’re a life-saver,” Vila said. “You’re not nearly so bad as I first thought, you know.”

“Well, that makes me so happy,” Avon said dourly, going over to examine the till. It was rather old-fashioned, Blake could clearly use a new one.

“Sometimes you’re even almost likeable!” Vila continued, apparently not realising Avon’s utter lack of interest. “I mean, there’s probably actually a genuine nice guy lurking deep inside – oh.”

For a moment, Avon thought that Vila had simply realised that Avon didn’t care about his rabbiting. Then he realised that it was clearly something else. He didn’t exactly look up but turned his head just a little so that he could watch.

Servalan was at the counter. She was wearing a white dress with a scooped neckline which revealed an impressive cleavage, particularly displayed by the way she was leaning over the bar. It was just the sort of thing that might distract an idiot like Vila from what he was supposed to be doing.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Vila said, sounding uncomfortable.

“Why Vila, that’s no way to welcome a customer,” Servalan purred.

“You’re not a customer. You should go.”

“I’d like to be a customer, Vila. Well. In truth, I’d like to be more than that. Do you know if Blake has considered my offer.”

“His answer is still no!” Vila said. He was clearly trying to sound brave but his voice was wobbling slightly. Clearly, Servalan intimidated him.

“That’s unfortunate,” Servalan said. “He’ll never make a real go of it, you know. It’s absolutely impossible.”

“You don’t know Blake! He’s kept this place open so far! People love him, all of them! And it’s his and he won’t give it up so you might as well give up!”

Servalan laughed a light, throaty sort of laugh. She reached out and stroked crimson fingernails across the back of Vila’s hand. Avon saw Vila shiver.

“Vila, Vila, it’s admirable that you want to defend your friend but there’s no point being delusional about it. Blake’s just a little fish in a big pond and little fish … well, they get eaten.”

“Blake’s not a fish,” Vila said, sounding rather pathetic. “Why are you talking to me about this?”

“Obviously she’s hoping to seduce you into giving away something useful,” Avon said crisply. He told himself that he was bored of listening to this nonsense but a part of him was feeling uneasy and out-of-sorts and he knew there was something more to it. Vila and Servalan both looked at him; Vila apparently relieved and Servalan … curious.

“Why Vila, who is your charming new friend?”

“My name is Avon. I’m not his friend.”

Servalan smiled, a predatory smile that Avon found himself responding to with a feral grin of his own. He wasn’t entirely sure what he thought of Servalan yet but he would probably have some time to consider it.

“He’s not your friend either,” he said lightly. “And for once, he is right – Blake wouldn’t welcome you here. I think you should leave.”

He thought she might argue but she didn’t. Instead, she smiled again and then turned and walked out, her high heels clicking on the floor. Avon watched her go, then looked at Vila.

“Thanks,” Vila said, sounding relieved. “She scares the pants of me, I don’t mind telling you! Jenna says that she eats men for breakfast.”

“Oh, I doubt you’d even make it to her breakfast,” Avon said, allowing a half-smirk to cross his lips.

“Charming,” Vila muttered. He sighed. “I’d better tell Blake about that, when he’s better. I don’t know why she’s still sniffing around, Blake’s not going to change his mind.”

“That’s because he’s a fool,” Avon said. “I doubt she’s the sort to give up or to stay within the law. He should sell and be done with it, she’ll give him plenty of money for it.”

“Are you some sort of idiot?” Vila said, sounding surprisingly annoyed. “This is his _home_. He isn’t going to sell his _home_ , he loves it here, more than anything! Anyway, why should he have to sell? He can do just as well as any stupid company that Servalan would give the place to!”

“He probably _could_ but he doesn’t,” Avon said. “He doesn’t charge enough, he doesn’t open at the right times and I’ve found the bit of paper where he’s been half-heartedly scribbling down what people apparently owe him. God knows how much free coffee the fool has given away in the past. If he is making a profit, it’s more from luck than judgement.”

“You’re all heart, you,” Vila said. “Maybe people _need_ that free coffee, have you ever thought of that?”

“Who cares what they need? Blake needs to run a business, not provide for every waif and stray that comes through the door!”

“Like you, you mean?”

Vila didn’t exactly say it with spite but there was a touch of it there and Avon felt his face stiffen. The last thing he wanted was to be considered one of Blake’s waifs, the idea was abhorrent. Was that how Blake saw him? Someone who needed _charity?_

“Blake is damn lucky to have me,” he said icily, suddenly wanting to cause Vila as much discomfort as Vila had just caused him. “At least _I_ know what I’m doing. At least _I_ can be trusted!”

That hit home. Vila recoiled a little, his cheeks pale. Then he flushed red.

“Meaning I can’t be trusted, is that it?”

“Well,” Avon drawled. “You _did_ steal from me the very first time we met. It does make me a little … judgemental.”

“I stole from you because you’re an arrogant, self-righteous prick!” Vila snapped. “Any self-respecting thief would have done the same!”

“Self-respecting thief?” Avon repeated, allowing the words to roll off him easily. “Is that how you see yourself? And Blake’s giving you a second chance. Is that why you hope he keeps this place? Because you’ll never get another job otherwise?”

It occurred to him that the argument was becoming a fight, that they were in public and people were beginning to look at them and that he didn’t actually _want_ to be fighting with Vila like this. But he couldn’t quite see how to extricate himself with dignity and he could see that he’d hurt Vila and that Vila was intending to lash out back in any way that the man could think of.

The way Vila choose was unexpected.

“You really are cold, aren’t you?” he said. “I’ve known a lot of men like you, Avon. If you don’t have a criminal record yourself, the only reason for it is because you slid out of trouble and let your friends take the blame for things you’d done!”

Avon felt the world shift around him, an almost physical jerk. For a second, he wasn’t in the coffee shop any more, he was far away, cold and sore and knowing that he’d lost everything that was worth living for – 

Then he was back and before he could stop himself, he’d moved forward and seized Vila by the wrist.

“You know _nothing_ about me! _Nothing!_ ”

“What the hell is going on?”

Horrified, he turned to see Blake at the doorway that led into the backrooms, staring at them both. He was still pale and clearly unwell. Vila jerked away from him and Avon let him go.

“For God’s sake,” Blake said quietly. “This is a _business_. I do not expect to find my staff practically _fighting_ each other behind the counter! Where’s Cally?”

“She … she went out for some lunch,” Vila said. He was staring at the floor, cheeks crimson.

“Fine,” Blake said. “So perhaps you should be doing some work while she’s gone?”

“Y-yes. Sorry Blake. I didn’t … we didn’t … ”

“No,” Blake said. He turned and looked at Avon and Avon felt a surge of rage. How dared Blake look at him like was a child to be admonished?

“I hope you don’t think you can browbeat _me_ , Blake.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” Blake said but there was a real chill in his voice now. “But I also hoped I could trust you to act like a human being for a few hours while I tried to rest.”

The rage was hot and almost comforting. It chased away the memories bought up by Vila’s awful words, reminded him that he didn’t _need_ these people, didn’t _care_ about any of them, he didn’t care about anybody any more!

“Perhaps your fault, Blake, is that you trust too easily. I did warn you that you didn’t know me, couldn’t possibly know me but you refused to listen, didn’t you? So this is really all on your own head now, isn’t it?”

“Avon, I … ” Blake stopped speaking. He shook his head, suddenly looking rather grey and clutched at the doorframe. Avon took half a step forward but suddenly Cally was there, supporting him.

“Blake, what are you doing out of bed? Go back upstairs immediately, this isn’t helping you at all!”

Avon watched her help Blake up the stairs. Vila had busied himself pretending to clean the counter. Several of the customers were staring and whispering and Avon felt a complete fool. He’d made an idiot of himself in front of people, something he hated. He wanted to blame Vila for it but he knew that he’d invited this. He shouldn’t even be here. He shouldn’t have let Blake rope him into his stupid world.

Cally came downstairs. She gave Avon one of her intense stares which he returned furiously, refusing be cowed. He didn’t care what she thought, why the hell would he? Cally shrugged and moved over to Vila, probably to tell him off instead.

A part of Avon wanted to leave straight away, to just storm out and not come back but another part of him – seemingly the bigger part – was refusing. He would _not_ be chased out, he would _not_ appear threatened by Blake’s anger or distressed by Vila’s stupidity. He had a job to do and he would do it.

He stalked up the stairs and returned to the laptop, making sure to bang the keys of the laptop unnecessarily loudly. He focused determinedly on the work. He would get as much of this done as he possibly could, he would show them all, none of them knew him, none of them!

Blake didn’t come out of his room. The door was firmly closed. Avon told himself that he didn’t care, that he didn’t want to see Blake anyway. He would finish this and go home and be damned if Blake thought he could get away without paying him every penny that Avon was owed.

He was saving his work and preparing to leave when Orac crawled through the open window, meowing furiously. Quite how he’d managed to climb up through the window, Avon had no idea, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a cat more tangled in string.

“What the hell have you done to yourself?”

Orac meowed again, rather pitifully this time. With a sigh, Avon caught hold of him and pulled him onto his lap.

“Hold still. Hold _still_. I can’t believe I’m talking to a cat … ”

Orac did go still though and Avon carefully untangled the string, trying his best not to cause any more hurt. Orac mewed softly and Avon scratched his head comfortingly. Once the string was off, Orac cuddled up, apparently wanting comfort.

“No,” Avon told him, standing up with the cat in his hands. “Come on, you can curl up with Blake, I need to go home.”

He opened Blake’s door quite carefully and was relived to see Blake was sprawled on his bed, sound asleep. He looked peaceful while sleeping, burrowed down in his blankets. When Avon placed Orac on the bed, Orac immediately went and nuzzled under Blake’s chin, settling down there happily. Blake made a drowsy noise and reached up, curling his hand gently over Orac’s back. Avon felt something brush past his legs and then Zen had sprung up on the bed too and was snuggled comfortably at Blake’s side.

Avon watched this little display. He told himself that he was unmoved by it but inside, he knew he was suddenly, desperately jealous. He shoved the emotion as far back as he could, determined not to think about it. He stepped out of the room, pulling the door not-quite to as he did. If the cats wanted to leave, they wouldn’t have to wake Blake up for it.

“Avon.”

Blake’s murmur was heavy with sleep and Avon paused for a moment, not sure if he wanted to answer. Blake mumbled something incoherent before settling down again. The only word that Avon thought he had discerned was “tomorrow.”

He found that he didn’t want to think too hard about what Blake might have been saying. He left the flat, walking down the stairs as quietly as he could. He didn’t want to see Vila or Cally again today. He didn’t want to see anybody else today.

He walked home slowly, not quite sure what was on his mind, only knowing that he rather wished he could have the day back to run through again. A ridiculous desire, pointless to think of. You couldn’t change the past, no matter how much you would like to. It was better not to think about what had happened for longer than you had to, there was certainly no point replaying any of the days events and thinking how he could have do something better …

He _hated_ guilt. It was a poisonous emotion that crawled inside you and made you sick and did nothing except make things worse and every time that he told himself he would never feel it again, still it crept back and lurked like a snake beneath a rock. He would not feel it. He would _not_ feel it!

He wondered what Blake had been trying to say. Telling him he’d see him tomorrow or telling him not to come back? Either was possible. Blake was generally the forgiving type, that much was plain. He was unlikely to fire Avon simply because of one fight, however misguided and embarrassing the fight had been. On the other hand, sometimes people became angry and he’d dragged Blake out of bed … but no, surely Blake wouldn’t be so petty.

Which really meant the decision of whether to return was up to him.

He could get away from that madhouse. Blake would pay him what he was owed. He didn’t have to face Vila or Cally or even Blake. He could find something else, something … better.

But it would look as though he was running away and he _never_ ran away.

Instead of going into his flat, he continued to walk, marching through the streets. He had an idea of where he was going but he didn’t really want to think about it.

Occasionally, Avon found it was better not to think about exactly why you did what you did. It could be unexpectedly painful. Pain was to be avoided, when possible.

But even Avon had to admit that sometimes, it wasn’t always possible.


	4. Chapter 4

Avon arrived at The Liberator early the next day. He knew he wouldn’t be first – there was no point being first, he did not have a key to the shop or the flat – but he arrived almost at the same time as Gan did. Gan gave him a look of polite surprise.

“You’re very early.”

“I’m going to fix the coffee machine.”

Gan stared at him as though Avon had said something entirely incomprehensible. Avon resisted the urge to make comments about Gan’s general brain power and pushed his way through into the café, looking at his watch as he did. He’d done some of the work the night before, it should be easy enough to be finished before the shop actually opened.

“I didn’t know it was broken … ” Gan mumbled from behind him.

“It’s always broken, Gan. Or rather, it’s always breaking. It wastes everybody’s time and loses customers. So I’m going to fix it properly.”

He sat down with the coffee machine and produced the tools and parts that he’d purchased the night before. He wasn’t technically an engineer, although he’d always enjoyed practical things of this sort. He spent quite a lot of time when he was young playing around with tools and inventions and building things. It was simply that computers had entered up appealing to him more. He actually hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it. It was fun, sitting there, retooling something, working out where each component had to go, what needed to be replaced and what didn’t.

“Avon, what are you doing?” 

Jenna’s voice. Obviously, she felt well enough to come into work today.

“Didn’t Gan tell you?”

“He made anxious noises and I can see why. You realise we open up in ten minutes?”

“Of course,” he lied. “I’m almost done.”

He sped up the process a little, clicking the last pieces back into place just as Jenna returned to his side, obviously intending to shout at him.

“There you go. It won’t break now.”

She stared at him doubtfully. Avon stared back for a moment, then gave her a lip-quirked smile and went to wash his hands before heading upstairs.

Blake was standing in his small kitchen, apparently washing up his breakfast things. He gave Avon a keen sort of look which Avon decided to ignore. He couldn’t stop Blake from bringing anything about yesterday up in conversation but neither was he going to encourage it. He would let Blake make the call and would respond however he felt was appropriate.

“Morning,” Blake said brightly. Avon made a non-committal noise.

“I’m feeling much better today,” Blake said. “Just needed to get it out of my system.”

“I didn’t need to know that, Blake.”

“Not like that!” Blake laughed. He leaned over and patted Avon’s shoulder, a warm gesture that Avon wasn’t sure he liked. “How are you doing?”

“I am fine Blake, why wouldn’t I be?”

He waited for Blake to make a surely inevitable comment about yesterday but Blake said nothing, simply patted Avon’s shoulder again before moving away.

“How is the work?”

That was easier ground. Avon quickly summed up where he was up to, making sure to drop in a few caustic comments about Blake’s general incompetence as he did. Blake listened and made the usual noises to show that he was listening and understanding.

“You’re doing well,” he said cheerfully at the end of Avon’s speech. “Thanks Avon. Appreciate it.”

He headed out of the room, leaving Avon feeling oddly uneasy, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. With a sigh, he turned back to the laptop, reached down to help Zen climb lazily onto his lap. How much longer ought he work here? Perhaps he ought to simply finish, collect his money and leave, he could probably manage that within a few days. This place … it seemed to be sucking him in, taking him over. If he wasn’t careful, he might find himself actually going for a drink with Blake or to the cinema or whatever other nonsense Blake suggested. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to become part of Blake’s retinue. He _liked_ being alone, he was used to it now. It was better to be alone.

And yet he found himself reluctant to speed over the work in that way. It was dangerous – the more he liked it, the more he was going to want to stay.

Zen purred and Avon realised he’d idly started scratching behind the cat’s ears. Well. It would be all right. He wasn’t attached to _Blake_ or any of the other idiots here. It didn’t matter if you got a little invested in a work place, as long as you were careful about it. The money was what was important. He should stay here as long as he could get away with it, earn as much as he could and then work out what to do next.

He was just beginning to really focus when Blake came back into the flat.

“Avon. What exactly have you _done_ to the coffee machine?”

“I’ve fixed it, Blake.”

“Fixed it for good, apparently. How do you turn it _on?_ ”

“With the on button,” Avon said, giving Blake his best you’re-an-idiot look. Blake just raised his eyebrow.

“And where _is_ the on button, exactly? Because none of us can find it!”

Avon gave a loud, patronising sigh and gently lifted Zen off his lap. Idiots. These people were idiots. How could they _possibly_ not be able to turn a _coffee machine_ on?

When they reached the counter, Avon saw that Vila, Jenna and Gan were standing beside the coffee machine, surrounded by rather amused looking customers who were making unhelpful suggestions. Avon rolled his eyes and walked over.

“What have you done to it?” Jenna demanded, glaring at him.

“I’ve _fixed_ it,” Avon said, leaning over her to press the on switch. The coffee machine whirred into life and Vila snorted.

“Well, who’d put an on switch _there?_ ”

“What’s wrong with it?” Avon asked irritably. “It’s fine. What do you want?”

He addressed this to the nearest customer who blinked and mumbled an answer. Avon calmly began to work the machine, pressing the correct buttons easily. The machine was working faster than before. He had remembered to put all the important things into it as well. He handed the woman her coffee and smirked smugly at Blake.

“There you go.”

“Where’s the bit you pull to make the frothy milk come out?” Vila asked mournfully. “I liked the little lever. It was fun.”

“You have a _new_ little lever, Vila.”

“Yeah, but this one won’t need to be twisted before you pull it, will it?”

“Little things for little minds.”

He moved back and watched people order their coffee. All of them seemed to want ridiculously complicated things, probably to test the new machine – they certainly seemed quite amused by it all. Vila kept making a mess of the orders which made Avon wince – all the wasted money – but the customers and Blake mostly seemed amused by it all.

“You realise you can never leave now?” Jenna informed him, seemingly torn between amusement and irritation. “You’re the only person who can work the machine!”

“I’ll write detailed instructions. In crayon.”

“I can’t read crayon, it’s too hard,” Vila said promptly. “How about felt tips?”

“If I must, Vila.”

He was rather pleased to note that Vila was apparently not holding a grudge over their fight. Nor was he apologising, which suited Avon just fine. Apologies were usually fake and then you had to try and find some sort of response, which was always uncomfortable. It was far better to consign it all into the past and act as though it had never happened, if you could.

“I have work to be getting on with, Blake.”

“By all means,” Blake said with an exaggerated hand gesture. Avon gave him a contemptuous look and headed back out, closing the door that led from counter to back room behind him. He lingered a moment – a moment longer than he should have done. The voices were muffled but clear enough.

“Another one of your lost causes, Blake?”

And Jenna’s voice, loud and cheerful.

“That one’s more lost than most!”

_Lost causes_. He was _no one’s_ lost cause, least of all Blake’s! Oh, he had known people were thinking it but to _hear_ it judged that way after he’d done something useful, proved he was _better_ than these morons …

He headed quietly back up the stairs, not wanting anybody to suspect that he had overheard. Didn’t it bother the others? How could Vila not hate to be one of Blake’s “waifs and strays”? How could _Jenna_ not hate it? She seemed so tough … but perhaps she wasn’t, perhaps she’d chosen this life. He still hadn’t managed to find out anything much about her.

He needed to get away from this place.

With a sigh, he got back to work, cataloguing and organising. Orac wandered back in through the window and yowled for a bit but Avon ignored him and after a while, Orac left again. When it got to lunch time, he went through Blake’s cupboards instead of going downstairs. Blake didn’t seem to keep very much food in the place but he found a can of soup which he heated for himself before returning to work. Nobody came up to bother him until almost exactly 4:30 when he was just closing things down.

“Avon.”

He looked around to look at Blake. Blake gave him that big smile of his, the one that Avon was beginning to suspect usually came with uncomfortable things attached.

“You didn’t come downstairs.”

“I ate up here.”

Blake raised an eyebrow and moved over to the kitchen counter.

“My last can of spicy tomato soup,” he said, apparently mildly disapproving.

Avon didn’t say anything. If Blake asked, he’d pay him back but he was pretty sure that Blake wouldn’t ask. It wasn’t Blake’s style. He might not totally approve of Avon going through his cupboards but he wouldn’t ask for recompense. And since he wouldn’t ask, Avon had no intention of offering.

He pushed the chair back, intending to go but Blake immediately turned and reached out a hand.

“Stay and have a cup of tea with me?”

Avon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He folded his arms instead and shook his head.

“Please.” Blake’s voice was soft. “Just … a cup of tea.”

Avon stared at him uncertainly. A part of him wanted to snap at Blake and storm out, another part was … curious. Blake was staring at him, almost pleadingly. Why did he care so much?

He shrugged and sat on the couch, folding his arms. Any impression he hoped to make was almost immediately ruined when Zen crawled onto his lap and rolled over, clearly expecting to have his stomach rubbed. Avon attempted to ignore this hopeful expression but it wasn’t easy when Zen was pawing at his fingers. In the end, he surrendered and ignored Blake’s smile as he approached, clutching two steaming mugs of tea. The mug he handed to Avon was emblazoned with some political slogan which Avon decided not to read. Blake’s own mug was advertising Cadbury’s Crème Eggs. Avon wondered if Blake was really silly enough to buy himself Easter Eggs. Now _they_ were a waste of money.

“Zen really likes you,” Blake said, nodding at the cat with a smile. “He doesn’t take to many people.”

“Really?” Avon said doubtfully. As far as he could tell, Zen just snuggled up to the warmest thing and went to sleep on it. He doubted it meant the cat actually _liked_ him. But Blake was the type to anthropomorphise everything.

“Of course,” Blake said. “And Orac likes you too – or at least, he hasn’t shredded your ankles yet, I think that’s a sign of affection from him!”

Avon shrugged and stared at his tea. It was too hot just to gulp down. He didn’t want to be here. What the hell did Blake want him to say? He kept trying to explain that they weren’t friends, why did Blake have to keep pushing it?

“We close early today, you know,” Blake said quietly.

“It would be easier to remember if you had proper hours up,” Avon said automatically. Blake smiled but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yes. Everybody else was busy today. I … I don’t like to be on my own.”

Avon blinked. It wasn’t something that he could say he’d noticed although now Blake had said it, it all made a very abrupt sort of sense. Yes, Blake was never on his own, was he? He eternally surrounding himself with people, eternally trying to keep them close. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why but he bit back the question.

“There we differ, Blake,” he said instead. “I enjoy being alone.”

“Do you?” Blake asked, looking at him a little too keenly for Avon’s liking. “Does anybody really like to be on their own?”

“Of course,” Avon said. “Being on ones own is much easier than being surrounded by people wittering at you. People are very stupid Blake, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“They’re not, you know,” Blake said earnestly. “Some people are misguided but I think, on the whole, we have potential.”

Avon rolled his eyes. It hadn’t been what he meant at all and he really wasn’t interested in a political speech. Blake seemed to sense this and gave a small laugh.

“Do you really like being on your own, Avon? All the time, nobody around you? Don’t you get lonely?”

“No,” Avon said, shortly. It was as true as it needed to be, after all. He didn’t get lonely, not for most people. Most people were pointless, they only encumbered you. Blake apparently liked to be encumbered because he was that sort of fool. Avon was not.

“I do,” Blake said, turning his mug in his hands. “I like people. I like my friends to be around me.”

“Friends?” Avon said lightly. “Or _lost causes?_ ”

Blake flushed a little.

“They didn’t mean it like that.”

“Like what?” Avon asked coolly. “Demeaning? As though we’re pets that you collect?”

“Avon, it’s not like that at all!”

“No? I do notice a certain level of … dysfunction amongst most of your regular workers here.”

“You don’t know them, Avon,” Blake said quietly. “You’ve got no right to judge people that you don’t know or understand.”

“But you don’t deny that they’re all slightly dysfunctional?” Avon said, pouncing on the ignored point. “Tell me Blake, are they all on the second chance that you are giving Vila?”

“Perhaps,” Blake said. His tone was cooler now, perhaps suggesting that he would rather Avon left this topic alone. Avon had no intention of doing so. He had told Blake that they weren’t friends, he wasn’t going to coddle the man or pay attention to his sensibilities just because Blake wanted him to.

“And do you like second chance people because it gives you power over them, Blake? Or is it just because you enjoy being a generous benefactor to the weak and needy?”

“And which are you, Avon? Weak or needy?”

Blake said it mildly but there was a biting undertone that Avon didn’t care for. He put his mug down with a thump and pushed Zen roughly off his lap.

“ _I_ am neither, Blake. _I_ not one of your _pets_.”

“The only pets I have are Zen and Orac!” Blake snapped, apparently losing his patience. “The others are friends and co-workers. You always look at everything so negatively, don’t you?”

“Well Blake, perhaps that answers your question about why I’m always alone.”

Zen was trying to crawl back onto his lap. Avon stood up, deciding that he’d had enough of this. Blake stood up too, looking slightly distressed.

“Avon, dammit, this wasn’t – ”

“It never is,” Avon said. “Perhaps you should just give up.”

He met Blake’s eyes then and found himself oddly caught. There was something so intense about Blake’s stare, something almost hypnotising. If you weren’t careful, you could get mesmerised, you could lose yourself …

“I don’t give up, Avon,” Blake said quietly. “That’s not who I am.”

“Then you should prepare yourself for disappointment,” Avon said, finding that his own voice was quiet too. He dragged his eyes away from Blake’s, turned and fumbled for his coat, wanting almost desperately to get away.

“You don’t have to be on your own, Avon,” Blake said. “There’s more to life than you want to think.”

Avon left without answering. He had to finish this job. The money wasn’t worth letting Blake get anywhere near his head. As if Blake could possibly understand, as if Blake could possibly know _anything_ ...

And he was being a fool, letting himself get sucked into it. The very act of engaging with Blake was drawing him further in and he did not want to be drawn, he _didn’t_. There could only be madness this way …

“Avon.”

He only just stopped himself jumping, twisted around in some surprise. Servalan stepped out of the shadows, smiling at him. She was wearing scarlet lipstick and a white coat that looked very like it was made of real fur. She stroked her hands over it and smiled at him.

“What do you want?” he asked, seeing no reason to be polite.

“Why, to ask you to dinner,” she said, offering her arm, her smile growing wider. “I find I have a booking for two at the Carriage Works and I would so hate to show up alone.”

Avon stared at her, thinking quickly. The Carriage Works was an expensive hotel and restaurant – you didn’t just _happen_ to have a booking in it. Servalan clearly wanted him for something and she was clearly willing to pay money for it. Given what he already knew of her, it might not be in his best interests and was almost certainly not going to be in Blake’s.

But on the other hand …

Smiling back, he slipped his arm into hers.

“Well. Why not?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably not worth tagging for but there's quite a bit of Avon/Servalan in this chapter.

Avon was more than a little prepared for the idea that Servalan might be lying to him and that they might reach the Carriage Works and find it fully booked or something of that sort but it was immediately apparent that not only was she expected, she was something of a regular. Somebody was almost immediately at her side to take the ridiculous fur coat. They gave Avon something of a look and he knew exactly why – he was hardly dressed for a meal out. He gave them an impassive stare back, refusing to care.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Servalan said, apparently noticing and smiling at him. “You look charming, quite charming. Shall we have a drink before dinner?”

“Why not? You’re paying.”

She smiled a smile that made Avon think of predators stalking their prey.

“But of course, Avon. Red or white?”

“Red.”

The drinks were brought to them and Servalan held hers up with a smile.

“A toast?”

“To what?”

“Why, new friendships, of course!”

Avon clinked his glass with hers and then sipped the wine. It was clearly excellent quality, at least she wasn’t going to try and do him out of decent food. Servalan drank from her glass too, her eyes fixed very intensely on him. Avon rather got the feeling that she was studying him. Well, that was all right. He would study her right back. He stared at her very directly, making it quite plain that he was looking her up and down. The short haircut suited her, as did her makeup. He couldn’t work out how old she was – early thirties, perhaps. She was wearing a white dress which was probably silk and had a silvery web around the collar. It was cut very carefully to look terribly classy and yet extremely sexual. It was a rather admirable presentation and had to be expensive.

“I do like good wine,” Servalan murmured, seemingly unworried by his stare. “Don’t you agree?”

“Naturally,” Avon agreed, looking at the drink in his hand. “But you didn’t invite me out to talk about wine, did you?”

“Oh, Avon,” Servalan said, a mock-reproachful look on her face. “Talking business over dinner gives one indigestion, don’t you find?”

“We’re not having dinner yet.”

“Then let us change that.”

She slid gracefully from her stool and moved over to one of the servers. In a moment, they had been ushered to a table and menus were being pressed into their hands. Avon felt a grudging admiration – obviously, Servalan spent a lot of time here and had enough money to do basically as she pleased.

He’d hoped to be that rich, once.

Well. Tonight that hope could become a brief, pleasant reality.

He ordered the most expensive things off the menu and savoured them as much as possible. It had been so _long_ since he’d enjoyed his food so much. Servalan made a little light conversation but for the most part, she allowed him to eat in peace, apparently unworried by the silence. She made no comment when he refused a second glass of wine – Avon had no intention of allowing himself to become tipsy. She drank another glass, the red of it only seeming to enhance her lipstick – or perhaps that was Avon’s imagination.

When it came to the time to order coffee, she leaned over and put her hand on Avon’s wrist, smiling at the waiter.

“We’ll take the coffee in my room.”

The waiter nodded his head and walked away. Avon raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Very well, if that was how Servalan wanted to play this, he was game. If she thought he would simply give her anything she wanted for a good meal and a tumble in bed, she was going to be quite wrong.

The room was small, giving it a decided air of intimacy. Avon deliberately moved his chair a little bit away from Servalan’s before he sat in it. Servalan didn’t seem mind. She settled on her own chair and elegantly crossed her legs, smiling at him.

“Well, Avon. I trust you enjoyed your meal?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent. I knew the moment I saw you that you would appreciate the finer things in life. Just as you must appreciate The Liberator.”

He raised an eyebrow, quirked his lip.

“The Liberator is hardly one of the finer things in life.”

“Au contraire, Avon. Oh, perhaps the shop itself could use some renovation but I am sure you’re quite aware of what a prime place it really is – or rather, really could be.”

Avon nodded his head. Yes, he was quite aware of that, there was no point denying it. The Liberator did well enough under Blake’s somewhat shambolic leadership, with some control and real thought at the helm, well …

A knock at the door. Servalan went to open it, taking the tray from the waiter. She handed Avon his cup of coffee and then sat down again. This time, she did move her chair a little closer. Avon pretended not to notice.

“The people I represent would like to take control of The Liberator,” Servalan said, taking a sip from her own coffee cup and smiling. “We have made Blake numerous offers, all of which he has refused, rather … imprudently.”

Avon snorted, remembering Blake’s words to Servalan the first time that he’d met them both. Yes, he could imagine that Blake might well have been even more intemperate on other occasions.

“However, I am not a woman who likes to accept the word _no_ ,” Servalan said, taking another sip of her coffee. She was staring at Avon intensely now and when she shifted in her seat, she “accidentally” brushed Avon’s leg with her own. “The people I work for like it even less. Together, we feel that Blake could surely still be … persuaded, if just approached in the right way.”

“I doubt that,” Avon said, finally taking a sip of his own coffee. It was good and clearly excellent quality but to his slight surprise, it simply didn’t seem to be as enjoyable as what he drank at The Liberator. Familiarity, he supposed. 

“Blake is stubborn,” he continued, putting the coffee down again. “And as far as I can tell, he dislikes you personally. He doesn’t care about money – ” He allowed his lip to twist in contempt. “ – and therefore, no matter how much you offer him, he will remain unmoved.”

“Yes,” Servalan agreed with a sigh. “Yes, I had become rather aware of that. Some people are rather foolish, aren’t they?”

Avon didn’t answer, simply smiled a little. Such a question was designed to draw him in, make him feel as though he and Servalan were already in agreement about things. They probably were, of course, but Servalan intended to use that against him, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t be so easily drawn into her web. She would have to be far clearer about her desires before he allowed himself to be played with.

Servalan took another drink, then put her own cup down and leaned forward, reaching out and laying a hand on Avon’s. She had long fingernails, painted a delicate shade of silver. It matched the dress but Avon found himself reminded of talons.

“Blake is a very foolish man, Avon. I am sure that someone of your intelligence doesn’t need me to tell him that.”

“You don’t know me, Servalan.”

“No,” she smiled. “Although I rather hope we can … change that.”

She stroked the inside of his wrist, very gently. Avon felt a flicker of heat run through him. Servalan continued to stroke, almost idly, as she talked.

“However, I do know a little about you. I do hope you’ll forgive the intrusion but we have done little background checks into everybody who works at The Liberator. I must admit, apart from yourself, they do appear to be an … unfortunate collection.”

Avon snorted. Yes, he could quite imagine that. He resisted the urge to ask what she had found out about them all. What Servalan had done was unethical if not illegal and he didn’t intend to become complicit in it, not yet.

She had moved from stroking his wrist to caressing his hand, a delicate, seductive touch. Avon refused to look, keeping his eyes fixed on hers and leaving his hand completely still.

“You’re clearly a very intelligent man, Avon. An intelligent man who deserves chances. I doubt Blake appreciates what he could have in you.”

“Almost certainly not,” he murmured and Servalan laughed softly and leaned forward, gripping his hand a little tighter than before.

“I think you could be a valuable asset, Avon. A very valuable asset indeed.”

“To whom, exactly?”

“Why, to anybody who you chose to … share your talents with,” she said. Oh, it was clever, it really was. Avon could see how most men would be eating out of her palm by now. The meal, the wine, the slow, careful seduction, the flattery … everything dealt out one card at a time, designed to snare.

And if he were honest, he _did_ feel a little seduced.

“And you hope I’ll share my talents with you?”

She stood up, half-drawing him with her. Avon allowed it to happen, allowed her to step closer. They weren’t quite touching but he could feel the heat of her. He was suddenly aware of how long it had been, how much he could want it …

“Oh,” Servalan whispered, answering his half-forgotten question. “Very much so, Avon.”

She touched his cheek with her hand. Avon fought not to lean into the touch.

“Which talents did you have in mind?”

She laughed, then leaned up and kissed him. Her mouth was deliciously hard against his, pressuring, demanding. Avon kissed back, allowing sensation to wash over him for a glorious, blinding moment. Oh yes, yes, he wanted ...

But his mind wouldn’t let itself be blanked. What did she want from him, why was she doing this? What power did he give her if they fell onto that bed together and was he willing to give it? Find out more, he _had_ to find out more before he let himself surrender to this …

He thrust her roughly away from him. For a moment, he saw shock and anger ripple across her face before she smoothed it into a mask. Avon tried to smooth his own face into a mask as well, horribly aware that he was panting slightly, that his body had reacted to Servalan’s proximity far more than he wanted it to have done.

“Never mix business and pleasure,” he said harshly. “What do you _want_ , Servalan?”

She smiled again. Avon found himself reminded of a snake.

“I want The Liberator,” she said, smoothing creases from her dress in a fastidious sort of motion. “I want you to help me get the Liberator.”

“And how do you think I can do that?” Avon asked, pleased that he didn’t sound like he was out of breath any longer. “If you think Blake would ever listen to me – ”

“Oh, Blake would listen to you,” Servalan interrupted. “He would listen to every word you said, even if he didn’t necessarily agree with it. Blake isn’t stupid, he knows that you’re the most intelligent person he could possibly have found. And he’s so very … trusting.”

Yes. Yes, Blake _was_ trusting. Avon was beginning to see the outline of a plan now. Servalan would have him continue to win Blake’s trust and then she would have him drip poison into Blake’s all too open ears. She would have him guide Blake into foolish choices until he was too deeply mired to escape.

“I see we understand each other,” Servalan murmured. She moved closer, took Avon’s hand again. Such a soft, silky touch … 

“Not yet,” he said. “Say what you really mean.”

“Very well.” She was calm and confident and Avon knew that she knew it didn’t matter. Nothing could be proved against her. Even if Avon reported this, nobody who mattered was likely to believe it. “I want you to work for me, not Blake. I want to see the documents that you have access to. I want to know how to bring Blake down so that he will _have_ to give up the Liberator, no matter what he _wants_. And I want you to help me with that.”

“And what do I get out of this deal, precisely?”

She named a sum of money. Avon managed to keep his face smooth but it was a near thing. It wasn’t riches beyond the dreams of his avarice but it was more than he would earn working for Blake, even if Blake kept him on a year.

“Is that all?” he asked lightly. “I could be arrested if what I was doing came to light.”

“The fee is negotiable,” she said. “And of course, some money would be paid upfront. Carefully, of course. I would hate for it to look as though anything untoward was happening.”

Avon stared at her, trying to think rationally. It was dangerous, what she was asking. Thoroughly illegal and of course, there was no guarantee that they would pay him the whole sum. It wasn’t usually a good idea to not pay the people who worked for you but sometimes, people got greedy and he could imagine Servalan being the type to double-cross those foolish enough to trust her unthinkingly.

But so much _money!_ With only half of that, he could move out of that damn flat, live somewhere better. He’d have enough for a deposit and for rent while he got a different job. And it was quite possible that Servalan and her ilk would continue to have uses for him, equally well paid uses. Servalan was clearly a winner and he had always liked being allied with winners. He owed Blake nothing. The man was a fool, everything Servalan said about him was true. He need feel no guilt about it, anybody that trusted as much as Blake deserved to be betrayed …

Betrayed. His stomach crunched unpleasantly at the word.

_It’s not like that. You never promised Blake anything, he has nothing he can hold against you, you’ve always been honest. You owe him nothing!_

“Well?” Servalan’s voice was soft. He could feel her breath on his cheek.

“I need time to think,” he said, trying to keep his voice smooth. “Only a fool makes any choice like this so quickly.”

“Of course,” Servalan agreed smoothly. She reached down for her small bag, removed a card from it. There was nothing but a telephone number on it which she showed Avon for a moment before stepping forward and slipping it into his pocket, her hand caressing as she did so. Avon felt another surge of heat. He could have her, he could have her right now, it had been so long since Anna, so long and he _wanted_ –

But was this really what he wanted? Anna had loved him and he had loved her. Servalan was beautiful and seductive and would doubtless be fantastic in bed but she was cold as a snake. Did he want the first time after Anna to be with someone so loveless?

He felt a ripple of disgust at his thoughts. Sex was sex, how the hell had he become someone who romanticised like that? Anna was dead and he would never see her again, would never allow himself to love like that again. What did it matter who he bedded?

Servalan seemed to sense his conflict. She kissed him again, slow and sensuous and Avon kissed her back, allowing himself a moment of weakness, touching her almost frantically, feeling her skin under silk, her smoothness, the warmth of her. She was guiding them to the bed, it would be so easy simply to fall onto it, to feel the softness of those sheets, just to surrender – 

Suddenly, Blake was in his mind. Blake with his annoying, caring expression, staring at Avon. _Why are you letting her do this to you, Avon?_

He pulled away, desire suddenly doused with a mixture of anger at himself and realism. Yes, going to bed with Servalan would be delightful but it would only give her power over him, turn him into one of her puppets, make him seem weak in her eyes. No matter what he decided, he had to seem strong, had to seem _better_.

“ _No_ ,” he said harshly, moving away from her, away from the temptation of the bed and the warmth it offered. “ _No._ ”

“As you like,” Servalan said easily, as though it were nothing to her. “I would never force you, Avon. I like you far too much for that. I think we could be great friends, you and I.”

He laughed, not really out of disbelief. Yes, she was probably right. They _could_ be great friends. He felt he understood her and he knew she could understand at least part of him. They both wanted to be on top. They both wanted to be the winners. And the way to win in this world was _always_ to be the richest.

So why was he hesitating?

“Call that number when you’ve made your decision,” she said. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

He nodded his head and left the room, keeping his head high. He felt hot and almost dizzy. Voices were arguing in his head: should have stayed, should have left earlier, should have agreed, should have told her to go to hell. He wasn’t sure which voice he should listen to, wished they would all shut up.

The air outside was cool, a relief. He walked home slowly, trying to sort his thoughts out. They felt oddly slippery, he was clearly more tired than he’d thought. He wanted to shower and he wanted to sleep.

The water in his shower was only luke-warm and turned to cold quickly but he didn’t care. He stood under it, struggling with himself. What did he _want?_ Why had he thought of _Blake?_ Damn Blake, why should he care about the man? Blake should have been more reasonable, should have been more practical. It was his own fault if he were opening himself up to this kind of thing, he should have been more careful, thought more before inviting a complete stranger into his life, giving him access to sensitive documents. If Avon were able to use that against him, that was Blake’s fault, not Avon’s. It was just using what you had available to you, that was all. Just doing what you had to in order to survive.

His head was beginning to throb. Wearily, he crawled into bed, pressed his face against the lumpy pillow. It would be easier to think in the morning.

He would make his decision then.


	6. Chapter 6

When he woke up in the morning, the headache was still there, crawling behind his eyeballs. Avon staggered out of bed, trying to remember if he’d bought any painkillers the last time he’d been shopping. He’d probably discarded them as an unnecessary expense, he never got sick.

Or rather, rarely got sick.

The idea of breakfast made his stomach churn so he simply had a glass of water before heading to The Liberator. He wasn’t ill. He couldn’t be. He had simply had more alcohol and rich food than he was used to and his body was confused, that was all. He would feel better later.

Blake’s greeting was rather muted and Avon wondered if he’d finally got through to the man in their argument the night before. Good. That might make things easier. Not that he would have let sentiment cloud his judgement anyway, of course. He never allowed sentiment to cloud his judgement. But if Blake was fawning over him, it might be … confusing.

Once he was sure Blake was downstairs, he searched the kitchen cupboards for painkillers, relieved when he found a decent stock. The aspirin tasted vile but it took the edge off his throbbing head and eased the dry, rasping feeling that was developing in the back of his throat. He found that his focus was off, that he was making stupid mistakes. His mind felt as though it were weighed down with lead. He needed to get on with this work, he needed to carry on as normal while he tried to make a decision about what to do. Everything ought to be done with _thought …_

He went downstairs for his lunch, after taking some more of Blake’s aspirin. Cally was working and she gave him a rather odd look as he handed her the sandwich so she could note that it was gone.

“Is that really what you want?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he snapped, not in the mood for questions.

“You don’t normally pick the egg sandwiches.”

Avon stared at the sandwich, irritated. He didn’t like egg, why the hell had he picked this one up? He’d been aiming for the tuna one. He took it back anyway, he wasn’t going to acknowledge the mistake.

“Are you all right?” Cally asked, giving him that oddly intense stare. “You look flushed.”

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

He moved to a table, stared dully at the sandwich and picked at it. Egg was horrible, he couldn’t understand why anybody ate it. Besides, swallowing was hurting his throat. And the aspirin didn’t seem to have done any good. He hated this. He _hated_ getting ill. It was ridiculous, that the body could be thrown down by things. He had a good immune system, he would be fine. He would be _fine_.

Perhaps he wasn’t ill. Perhaps Servalan had poisoned him. The idea made him smile. It was ridiculous, of course, she wouldn’t want to do that. She wanted him well, she wanted him to betray – 

Oh. That ridiculous word again. He tugged unhappily at the bread, shredding it under his fingers. It _wasn’t_ betrayal. It wasn’t like that. Blake meant nothing to him, you could not betray somebody that you had no loyalty to. He could do anything that he wanted without any need for shame. It was just deciding if he wanted to.

But why _didn’t_ he want to? Why was he delaying? Servalan would pay him, even half that money would be all he needed for a new flat. There was a good chance they’d pay him all of it, maybe even more. Nobody double-crossed Kerr Avon and got away with it. They could give him things, things he wanted and he could be content …

He gave up on the sandwich, throwing it away and heading back upstairs. He sat back down at the computer and forced himself to focus. Strength of will. Strength of will. He was not weak, he would not allow himself to get caught up in sickness, he would do his work exactly as he was supposed to. He was fine. He was _fine_.

“Avon?”

He jumped, twisted round and stared at Blake. Blake was frowning at him.

“What?” he snapped. “I’m working!”

“And it’s nearly quarter to five,” Blake said. “You don’t get overtime, you know.”

Avon felt there had to be some sort of rude response but his brain seemed too slow. He saved the work and pushed Zen off his lap with a little more force than he intended. Zen yowled and Blake looked up.

“Careful! What’s the matter with you? Cally said you seemed distracted.”

“What business is it of yours, Blake?”

He snarled the words out, taking comfort in being rude. He didn’t like Blake, had no reason to be nice to him. He didn’t have to be nice to anybody, he didn’t have to do _anything_.

Blake was looking affronted, as though he hadn’t expected Avon’s anger.

“Well, there’s no need for that!” he said. “I was only – ”

“Interfering in matters that don’t concern you?” Avon said caustically. “Seems to be a habit of yours, doesn’t it? Is there anything you don’t try to stick a finger in, Blake? Anything that you don’t try to meddle with?”

“I’m not meddling!” Blake snapped. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

“Did you perhaps fail to grasp that it’s none of your business, Blake? Is that too complicated for your small, arrogant brain?”

“You’re hardly one to talk about other people’s arrogance, Avon.”

Avon snorted and turned disdainfully away. To his utter frustration, Blake refused to accept that this was the end of the conversation and in fact, moved around so that they were face-to-face again.

“Tell me, Avon, is there anything that you _don’t_ know best about?”

“No,” Avon said shortly. “There is absolutely nothing that I don’t know best about, especially compared to you because you are an idiot who knows nothing about anything at all.”

He tried to turn away but Blake grabbed his arm. Furious, Avon twisted back, trying to pull away.

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ”

Blake let him go and Avon stumbled. The room seemed to spin and he clutched at the table, trying not to fall. Blake frowned.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing! Just … leave me alone!”

He wanted to go home. He wanted to lie down and curl up and not think about anything. His joints were hurting almost as much as his throat. Blake was frowning at him even harder, his anger apparently drained away.

“Avon, you’re sweating. Are you sick?”

“Just leave me alone! I’m fine, go away, just … ”

He stumbled and felt Blake catch hold of him again. He tried to twist away but it suddenly seemed too much effort. Blake’s hands were warm and he was terribly, terribly cold.

“Avon, you’re burning up! Why didn’t you say, you fool?”

“I’m not a fool. I’m fine. I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody!”

“Come on. Let’s get you on the couch.”

Avon lashed out at him blindly, clawing at Blake’s face. Blake swore, jerking away but not letting go. Avon stared dizzily at the trail of blood that was now dripping down Blake’s cheek. So very, very red …

“Avon?”

Avon fainted.

*

Someone was stroking his hair, very gently. For a moment, Avon thought that he quite liked it, then suddenly he was thinking of Servalan and panic filled him. He struggled wildly, trying to thrust the hands away.

“Avon, it’s all right.”

Cally. He relaxed for a second, then felt fear again. Why was Cally here? She couldn’t be at his flat, she wasn’t allowed, she couldn’t be there …

“You’re quite safe,” Cally murmured. “Here, drink some of this.”

It was a horrible tasting but Avon swallowed it anyway. It was thick and his throat hurt just a little less while he was gulping it down.

“There. You’ll feel better. Just go to sleep, Avon. You’re quite safe, it’s just a high temperature. You’ll feel just fine soon.”

He wanted to sleep but his mind was spinning too much now and he couldn’t get a grip on the thoughts. Servalan and Blake melding into one spinning creature, reaching out for him, whispering and laughing. He had to choose, he had to choose, it was so important and he couldn’t think, he didn’t want be in pain any more, he wanted it all to make sense …

Sounds. He tried to sit up but his body was too heavy. He heard Cally move away, felt light on his eyelids as she opened the door, spoke to the people on the other side. 

“He’s resting. His temperature is coming down I think but it’s quite high still. He’s not very well but it might be just a very bad cold.”

“Well, he can stay here until he’s better,” Blake’s voice rumbled. “I’m not sending him back to that flat, not in his state. I wouldn’t let a _dog_ live there.”

“It’s not that bad!” Vila’s voice. “I mean, okay, it’s dark and cold and mouldy but maybe Avon likes that!”

“No one would like that place, it’s a hole. I’m not letting him stay there, not if I can help it.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Blake!” Jenna, sounding surprisingly furious. “When are you going to accept that he _doesn’t want your help?_ ”

“I don’t care what he wants, Jenna, he’s _sick_. Do you want me to carry him back and bung him into that cold bed and _leave_ him there?”

“Yes! If that’s what he wants, then yes! You can’t save everybody, Blake!”

“I don’t want to save everybody, Jenna.”

Avon wanted to yell at them both, wanted them to know he was listening and here and that he didn’t care what they said, that he didn’t want Blake to _save_ him, he didn’t want to be saved, didn’t need it, didn’t want any of them …

But his teeth were beginning to chatter and his head was spinning again. He curled up under the duvet that was covering him, hugged it to his cheek. The walls were breathing, he could hear them, it was like Blake was in the whole building, watching, knowing everything …

It turned from half-hallucination to dreams, awful dreams where Blake spied on him through the walls and in the duvet and then turned into Servalan, laughing softly, reaching out slender white hands that turned into pale, curling snakes. He couldn’t get away from them, they were coiling around him, hissing and whispering terrifying words in his ear, reminding him of what he did, what he’d done, about Anna, his Anna, gone and lost and he was alone and cold and so, so scared …

“Avon, it’s all right. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

Hands, real hands, stroking his hair, his face. He forced his eyes open, stared blearily up into Blake’s anxious eyes. 

“Here. Drink this, it’s just water. You’re all right, Avon. Don’t cry.”

_Cry?_ Oh God no, he didn’t cry, he never cried. He tried to scrabble away from Blake’s supportive arm, reached for the glass he was being offered. The water was cold but soothing and he managed not to spill it on himself as he drank.

“It’s just sweat,” he mumbled, handing the glass back. “I wouldn’t cry.”

“No,” Blake agreed, helping him lie down again, fluffing the pillows. “I know that. Go back to sleep, Avon.”

His hands were warm. Avon found himself almost reassured.

“Blake,” he whispered. “You need to know … there’s things … ”

“Not now, Avon. Go to sleep.”

He closed his eyes. The nightmares were quivering at the edge of his mind. He felt sick and scared and lost and yet strangely soothed by Blake’s gentle hands. It was all right. At least right now, it was all right.

He woke up several times on and off throughout the night. Sometimes Blake was there, sometimes he wasn’t and Avon wasn’t always sure which reality was real. He’d reach out and sometimes Blake would move away, sometimes he stayed there and felt real under Avon’s fingers. It was strange and unreal and Avon longed for it to be over.

And then he woke up and it was.

He felt dreadful, of course. His head still ached, his throat was sore and his nose was bunged up. But he was no longer shivering or sweating and his mind felt at least partially in control.

He sat up and noticed that Zen and Orac were lying on either side of him. Orac made a cross noise, obviously annoyed had having been disturbed. Zen just resettled, apparently assuming that Avon would just lie down again. Avon stared at them for a moment, then shook his head, slightly baffled. At some point, someone had undressed him, something that Avon wasn’t completely comfortable with, although he supposed it was better than sleeping in his clothes. He wasn’t sure whether to hope it had been Blake or not.

“You awake in here? I heard Orac shout.”

Blake, all quiet and solicitous. Avon gave him one of his best glares. To his consternation, Blake grinned.

“Here. Aspirin and a lemon and honey drink. Cally swears by them. Do you want breakfast?”

Avon took the aspirin and the lemon and honey.

“No breakfast. I should go.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Blake immediately lost his “sick bed” voice, which Avon found something of a relief. “Avon, you’re sick!”

“It’s a cold, Blake, that’s all. I get high temperatures sometimes. I’ll be quite all right.”

“Avon, I saw your apartment, you can’t possibly go back there whilst you’re sick!”

“Why not?” Avon said, wishing his voice wasn’t rasping so. “It’s my home, Blake. Where else would I got when I’m sick?”

Blake looked at him for a moment, his eyes slightly narrowed. Avon waited, leaning back a little against the pillows as he did. This had to be Blake’s spare bedroom and it was surprisingly comfortable. Not as cluttered as everywhere else either. Maybe Blake actually kept the bedroom ready for visitors, as opposed to just as a store room.

“Avon,” Blake said, his voice surprisingly tentative. “Look, this is just a suggestion, you don’t have to but … why not move in with me?”

Avon managed to stop his mouth opening but he couldn’t do anything about his eyes widening with shock. He stared at Blake, half-waiting for Blake to burst into laughter and say it was all a joke.

“What?” he managed, because really, what other response could there possibly be?

“I could use a flatmate,” Blake said, sounding more enthusiastic now. Probably, he had assumed that Avon would refuse out-right. “I wouldn’t charge you much for rent. You can keep working here if you want to, although if you’re wanting something else, I don’t mind that either. You’ve been brilliant, sorting all the accounts out, you could do all the financial stuff from now on, if you’d like that. You’ve got to admit, this place is far nicer than where you live now.”

“You … want _me_ … to live with _you?_ ”

It was ridiculous. It was absolutely, completely stupid.

It was so very, very Blake.

“Why not?” Blake grinned. “You look like you’re the tidy type. You probably won’t keep up with loud music. The cats like you. And you enjoy drinking coffee.”

“I think you’re an idiot,” Avon said. “I disagree with almost every single thing that you have ever suggested that you think. And you think we can _live_ together?”

“Why not?”

Avon couldn’t think of anything to say to such obvious stupidity so he just raised both eyebrows. Blake shrugged.

“Just think about it,” he said. “You don’t have to decide right now. We brought some of your clothes from the flat, you’ve plenty to change into. Go have a bath, take things slowly. You can stay here as long as you like, even if you don’t want to move in. You shouldn’t work like that when you’re sick.”

He left the room, closing the door behind him. Avon flopped back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling, wondering if he was still caught in some bizarre hallucination, brought on by his temperature.

How? How could Blake _think_ like this? Did he have a brain that actually worked? Well, Avon already knew the answer to that was no but this was just an extra ladling of stupidity. How could he possibly imagine that they would last five minutes without killing each other?

Zen crawled up to nestle down by his neck and began to purr happily. Orac had already gone back to sleep. Avon liked the idea of a bath but he found he liked the idea of another nap still more. Settling down, he told himself that Blake had offered all this without expecting anything in return. He’d be a fool not to enjoy a quiet day somewhere comfortable with hot water and painkillers and food that, if he were lucky, might just arrive without him actually having to make it.

This time, his sleep was easier and he didn’t wake up again until Orac started to chew on his fingers, apparently feeling it was lunchtime. Avon found that he rather agreed but that the pain in his throat and the vaguely grotty feeling he was experiencing told him that painkillers and that bath were a higher priority.

Blake had a rather nice bathroom. It was painted a pastel blue and the bathtub was a deep one. Avon found that he rather enjoyed lounging in it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a bath. It had been showers – and mostly cold ones – for years.

_I could live here. I could have this_.

The thought was a treacherous one and he tried to shove it away. That was madness. He _knew_ it was madness. How could he _possibly_ live with Blake? Blake would try to suck him into his ridiculous life. He would never understand Avon, what Avon wanted and needed. He would pry into everything, ask hundreds of questions, probably get angry when Avon proved recalcitrant.

And then there were Blake’s friends – or rather, his lost causes. Had Blake consulted them about this? Possibly Jenna, that made some sense of the row that they’d had last night. Perhaps Blake had been thinking this the moment he’d set foot in Avon’s flat.

The idea of Blake in his flat made him shudder. Not that there was anything much for Blake to see, Avon had lost everything more than once, almost nothing he owned now really mattered to him and his computer was password protected. 

No, what he hated was the idea that Blake had seen the place, how dank and wretched it really was. He was suddenly horribly ashamed and he hated that feeling. Was this just more charity of Blake’s, taking care of Avon because he thought Avon couldn’t do it himself? Because he could, he didn’t need Blake, he didn’t need anyone.

But just because he didn’t _need_ Blake didn’t mean that he couldn’t use him …

It was only as he was drying himself that he suddenly realised that if it had been Blake that had undressed him, it meant that Blake had seen his scar.

That was far worse than Blake seeing his flat. The idea of Blake looking at it, touching it, wondering why it was there, perhaps even discussing it with the others … no, no, that couldn’t be allowed to happen, it just couldn’t. Avon found his hands were actually trembling, had to grip the sink to still them. He had to leave this place. He had to get away from them all.

He walked out of the bathroom and found Jenna there, hands on her hips.

“What?” he snapped, slightly alarmed by her stare.

“Blake informs me that he’s been mad enough to offer you the spare room.”

Well, at least somebody saw it was madness. Avon raised his eyebrow at her, then moved over to the kitchen and began looking for something to eat.

“Are you going to accept?”

“Well now, surely that’s between myself and Blake?”

“Don’t play games with me, Avon.”

“I’m not. I am simply suggesting that it is an offer from Blake and therefore, I ought to tell him any decisions I make before I tell _you_.”

She just scowled at him. Avon decided that soup might be rather nice. Blake had clearly bought some more of that spicy tomato stuff that he’d rather enjoyed last time.

“You know that we won’t let you use Blake, don’t you?”

“And will you stop Blake using _me?_ ” he snapped and then winced as it strained his throat. He lowered his voice and went on. “If I _were_ to move in with him, what’s the guarantee that I won’t basically end up his unpaid slave? You think he’d baulk at making me do anything for the good of his shop and his lost causes?”

“You don’t know him,” Jenna said. “You don’t understand him. Blake isn’t like that.”

“No? You think not?”

“I _know_ not. You think everybody is like you, Avon. That’s what you’d do if you owned this place. That’s how you’d treat somebody.”

“And it’s how Blake would treat somebody,” Avon said. “I don’t understand how you can view him with these rose-tinted glasses.”

For a moment, he thought that Jenna wasn’t going to answer him. She stared at him, arms folded now. Avon decided to ignore her and see if she just chose to go away.

“Blake is a good man,” Jenna said quietly. “Sometimes … sometimes he’s too good. He can get so involved … he forgets how the real world works. He’s not blind, he’s not stupid. He just makes mistakes sometimes. He needs people with him that see the world more like it is.”

“Very touching,” Avon said, staring at the soup. “And you enjoy being his saviour, do you?”

“I’m _not_ his saviour!” Jenna snapped. “It’s not … oh, you don’t understand. You don’t want to understand. Blake needs people. Good people. People who will help him. If you’re not that person, get out of his life, Avon.”

She walked out of the room. Avon stared after her, not quite sure what to think. He tried to pick through everything she’d said, tried to pick through what he know of Blake, what he’d seen of the man in these past few weeks. His head began to hurt again. He curled up on the couch, relieved when Zen immediately came for a cuddle. It was relaxing, having Zen on his lap. He didn’t feel like he had to think so much.

He dozed, his mind trying to shift through things. Jenna turned into Servalan, Servalan turned into Blake. He wanted them to stop. He wanted them to go away.

“Avon?”

Blake’s voice. Avon opened his eyes and stared at him blearily. Blake smiled.

“Do you want dinner? I’m thinking of macaroni cheese tonight. Something soft for your throat.”

“Why not?” Avon said. If Blake was offering to make food, he’d be a fool to refuse, wouldn’t he? And he wasn’t a fool.

Blake began to clatter around the kitchen. Orac appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and leaped onto Blake’s shoulder, meowing loudly in Blake’s ear. Blake didn’t seem to mind. He let the little cat stay there until Orac’s mews quietened into purrs. Avon watched them drowsily. He wondered how good Blake actually was at cooking. He’d never found that out. There was a lot of stuff in the kitchen, perhaps he was good at this.

After a while, Blake brought him a steaming plate of macaroni cheese. Avon was beginning to find it hard to taste anything – his nose was blocking up – but the texture was excellent and then he _did_ taste, he found himself enjoying it. 

“Sherry in the sauce,” Blake informed him. “It reacts when you boil it with cheese.”

“I’ll believe you,” Avon said. He swallowed his last mouthful and then pushed the plate away. “Why are you doing this, Blake?”

“Cooking for you? Because you’re my guest, of course,” Blake said. Avon was about to snap at him when he saw a serious look come into Blake’s eyes and knew that Blake wasn’t just avoiding the question. “Looking after you while you’re sick? Because it’s what I’d do for anybody who collapsed in my house. Offering you the spare room? Because I hate being alone and I’ve wanted a roommate for a long time. You live in what’s basically a hovel, I can’t imagine why you’d want to stay there if you had any sort of choice.”

“Oh, I have a choice,” Avon murmured, his mind suddenly swimming again. “So many choices … ”

“Avon? Is your temperature up again?”

Blake touched his forehead. His hand was hot, pleasantly hot. Avon sighed at it. Blake frowned.

“Come on. Let’s get you back into bed. Cally left behind some of her medicine, that will help you.”

He helped Avon up. Avon reeled against him, furious at his body for betraying him like this. He’d been getting better, how could it sneak up on him, how could he be needing Blake like this?

“Blake. Blake, I … there’s … I do have choices, I need to explain, it’s so … things … Servalan’s a snake, she’s poison, you mustn’t let her … ”

“I know about Servalan,” Blake said, his voice so calm. “Don’t worry, Avon. It’s just the fever. You’re all right. You’ll feel better soon. Lie down, go to sleep. You’re not alone. You’re safe.”

He was easing Avon into the soft bed as he spoke, helping Avon lie down. Avon let his head be pillowed, stared up into Blake’s dark eyes.

“You can’t save me, Blake.”

Did he say it? Or did he just dream the words, already sinking into feverish sleep? He wasn’t sure. Did he dream the answer too?

“I can try.”

Everything after that was a dream, he was certain of that. Anna was dead after all. Chances were, she wasn’t going to appear at the end of the bed and watch him struggle. Chances were, she wasn’t going to laugh at him.

Eventually, the flurry of dreams slowed. His body felt warmer, better. He could feel Zen curled up against his stomach, Orac somewhere down behind his knees. He wasn’t alone. That was nice.

When he woke in the morning, he knew his temperature was gone. He was bunged up and sore and sniffly but he wasn’t so ill. He could take care of himself now.

Blake was already up, making pancakes of all things. Avon stared at him, raising an eyebrow. Did people in real life _actually_ have pancakes for breakfast? Apparently so, if they were Blake.

“How do you feel?” Blake asked. “You look a bit better.”

“I’m fine,” Avon said automatically. 

“Do you want a pancake? I can make them into rabbit shapes.”

“As I am not five years old, Blake, I think I do not actually want pancakes at all.”

Blake just grinned, apparently completely unworried. Avon shook his head and moved into the kitchen area, hoping there might be some cereal. With his luck, Blake would have cereal with stupid sugar shapes in. 

“I’m ready to work,” he added, determined not to lie around any more.

“If you feel up to it,” Blake said. “Don’t worry too much.”

Avon didn’t say anything, just poured himself cereal and then went to sit down. Blake followed a few minutes later, rabbit-shaped pancakes on his plate. Avon tried not to stare at them.

“It’s hardly a nutritional breakfast,” he heard himself say without really meaning to.

“Oh God, you’re turning into Jenna,” Blake said, looking amused.

“Does she often see your breakfast?”

“She’s stayed over sometimes,” Blake said casually.

Well, that could mean anything, couldn’t it? Avon raised his eyebrow but Blake either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it. Avon decided not to ask directly. He quietly ate his cereal, wishing that he could actually taste it.

“I’d better head downstairs,” Blake said, putting his plate down. “We really are going to need you to write down proper instructions for that coffee machine. How have you managed to make something that’s so complicated?”

“It’s not complicated,” Avon said automatically. “The fact that you are all vaguely incompetent probably has something to do with it.”

Blake raised his eyebrows slightly. Avon was beginning to suspect that this was actually a sign that Blake was quite irritated but refusing to comment. Which was actually interesting, it meant he needled Blake a little more than Blake was willing to show.

“If I lived here,” he said conversationally. “we would have to have an agreement. I’m not going to become an unpaid helper for your shop.”

“Oh, of course not,” Blake said, sounding as though he definitely meant it. “I wouldn’t expect that of you.”

“I would have total autonomy,” Avon said. “A key to this flat. And I would be able to leave after I have finished my work and return when I wished.”

“Naturally.”

“And should I grow bored of working for you, I should be allowed to stop without having to leave the flat.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Blake agreed. He was keeping his face straight but his eyes were shining.

“I haven’t agreed yet,” Avon said.

“No, no,” Blake said calmly. “I quite understand. You’ll need to think about it. After all, we haven’t discussed rent. And you’ll have to chip in for food and bills, I think. We’ll need to talk about that when you’re feeling a bit better.”

“Yes,” Avon agreed.

He watched as Blake left the flat. Zen had already climbed onto his lap and was cuddling down for his sleep. Orac was apparently fascinated by Avon’s bowl and was gently batting at it. The sun was coming through the window, lighting the place up.

It was a nice flat.

He _liked_ it.

And he could have it.

The thought was confusing. How could it be this easy? There had to be a catch, didn’t there? There was _always_ a catch, always some terrible loophole to ruin everything.

Blake would use him. Wasn’t that a loophole enough? Of course Blake would use him, he wouldn’t be able to resist, would he? No matter what was signed. And Blake would probe into every single bit of his life, invade, nose, try to find things out and there were things Avon didn’t want him to know, so many things …

But at the same time …

Everything was always transient, wasn’t it? You could never be happy, not for long, the world simply didn’t work that way. You had to snatch the bits of happiness that you could, do everything in your power to keep it as long as possible and damn anybody who got in your way.

Maybe he should snatch this.

Avon swallowed and pulled a face when it scratched his throat. He got himself a drink and then turned Blake’s laptop on. 

Whatever he decided about the future, there was work to be done right now.


	7. Chapter 7

When Avon officially signed the papers making him Blake’s legal flatmate, Blake insisted on a party. 

It didn’t matter how much Avon told him that he didn’t want a party. It didn’t matter how much Avon told Blake that he didn’t _like_ parties. Blake was going to have one and Avon was going to be at it and that was that.

Avon was beginning to remember why he’d hesitated when handed the pen.

“Oh, it’s only going to be The Liberator, it’s not a _real_ party,” Blake said airily. “Just our people.”

“ _Your_ people,” Avon corrected him. “They are nothing to do with me.”

“They’re your coworkers,” Blake said. His voice was placid but Avon could detect an undertone of steel beneath. “You’ll see them a lot, you know that.”

He stopped short of saying that Avon would just have to learn to like them but Avon could feel it there behind the words. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that but he didn’t question it. He’d made this choice now. If Blake thought he could be browbeaten, he would be disappointed.

It might even be almost … fun. Perhaps it was ridiculous to think so but there was something rather entertaining about pushing Blake and seeing how Blake might push back. They had already shared several enthusiastic exchanges about various matters and Avon was beginning to wonder if Blake might rather like being challenged.

Which would certainly explain why he had asked Avon to move in with him at any rate.

To his slight annoyance, the others all seemed vaguely amused by his decision. Jenna had rolled her eyes. Cally had smiled and welcomed him. Gan had grinned an annoyingly large grin and told him that he wasn’t surprised. Vila had just said how glad he was that the man who had ruined the coffee machine would be easily accessible.

Avon suspected that all this meant he’d made a terrible decision. He must have gone mad.

But the rent really wasn’t very much. He would be saving money, particularly as Blake seemed to be planning a communal living space, where they both provided some of the food. If Avon was careful, he could get quite a bit in the bank account before he eventually had to leave. It might be enough to support him, if he needed it.

And there was going to be a lot of free coffee.

Blake had changed The Liberator sign to “Closed.” To Avon’s utter relief, there was no sign of party food or decorations or any of that rubbish. Just coffee being brewed and a plate of cakes which Gan was setting out.

“Gan makes good cakes,” Cally informed him. “You haven’t had any before, have you?”

“I have very little interest in cake,” Avon said, eyeing the iced confectionary with vague distaste. Vila made a sound as though Avon had just suggested that his hobby was skinning baby seals. Avon ignored him. Cally handed him a cake anyway.

“Gan has put your name on it,” she said. “It’s yours.”

Avon had to admit, the name was well-iced. He decided it would be churlish to try and argue the point any longer and ate the cake. It was better than he expected it to be. Not that he was intending to mention it and to his relief, nobody asked. They all ate their own little cakes and praised Gan accordingly.

“I’m glad I’ve got this excuse to bring you all together,” Blake said. Even though they were all standing in random positions, Avon suddenly had the odd sensation that Blake was the centre and they were a ring of listening admirers. He wasn’t quite sure that liked the feeling very much and quickly pushed it away and looked at Blake. Blake was smiling.

“I’ve told you all before how much I value you. Nobody could ask for a better team, a better _crew_. You’re all loyal, good, hard-working people and I know that I’m lucky to have you all working for me.”

The others were all smiling. Avon glared at the coffee mug that he’d been given. If Blake continued with this and started making a fuss over Avon, Avon was going to crack him over the head with the mug.

But Blake didn’t. He smiled at Avon briefly but his eyes were chiefly on the others.

“Here’s to making the Liberator even more of a success,” he said and lifted his mug in a toast. The others copied. Avon found his own mug lifting, just a little. He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. How did Blake get people so involved with him?

He had another think coming if he thought Avon was going to follow him around. No, Avon was quite capable of living here and remaining autonomous. He would use Blake and Blake’s flat and job for as long as he needed to and when a better offer came along, he would take it. Until then … well, until then, this was it.

He listened with a half-smile to Vila arguing with Blake about how they were celebrating with coffee and not champagne or wine or something alcoholic. Did Blake not know how to party? Why would they ever let Vila arrange anything?

“A sign of intelligence?” Avon suggested and was rewarded with a laugh from Blake and a wounded look from Vila.

“You just don’t understand the value of a good drink, you know that, don’t you?” he said. “Drinks are relaxing, let everybody get their hair down a bit, you know?”

“If you’re hoping I’ll get drunk and kiss you, you’re going to be disappointed,” Jenna informed him, grinning. Vila immediately gave a love-lorn sigh and shook his head.

“One day, Jenna.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I’m cruelly denied,” Vila said, turning big eyes on Avon, as though he expected Avon to care. Avon raised one eyebrow in a disdainful way. Vila sighed.

“Gan, they’re all picking on me again.”

“Sorry Vila,” Gan said, sounding amused rather than sorry. Vila sighed, a mock-tragic sound. Avon rolled his eyes gently and sipped at his coffee again and let the conversation ripple around him. It wasn’t so bad, in a way. He wasn’t expected to do anything, just sit and listen and drink coffee. He could do that.

“Blake,” Cally said suddenly. “We’re being watched.”

“I know,” Blake said. He was still smiling but his eyes were suddenly cold. “Ignore her. If she’s got so little in her life that she wants to watch other people drink coffee then let her.”

Avon looked, although he didn’t need to. He knew who would be watching them outside the window, spying on their little party. Watching _him_.

Servalan was wearing a bright white dress that stood out against the dark of the evening. She wanted to be seen. She wanted them all to know she was there, outside looking in. Plotting. Her dark eyes met his and she smiled, sweet and inviting before turning away and walking down the road.

“I wish she would stay away,” Jenna muttered. “I hate that woman.”

“Don’t waste your energy,” Blake said coolly. “There’s nothing she can do. She’ll never take The Liberator from me, from any of us. She knows that and so she’s just trying to save face.”

Avon wondered what Blake would think if he knew that he still had Servalan’s card in his pocket. He could feel it right now, digging into his thigh. He wondered what Blake would think if he ever found out that Avon had nearly been to bed with her.

Somehow, Avon suspected that it wouldn’t be taken well.

Vila said something that broke the tension and Blake laughed. The conversations started up again and Avon quietly put his cup down and left the room. He’d had enough of parties.

When he reached the safety of his new bedroom, he removed the card from pocket and stared at the phone number on it.

What would happen if he rang it? Would Servalan herself answer, purring out her temptations? Or would someone else answer to cover their tracks, put him through once he’d proved that he intended to help her? Did she know that he lived here now? Did she think he’d made his choice?

He hadn’t, of course. As he tore the card up and dropped it in the bin, he assured himself that he could always contact Servalan should the situation require it. He could always take up her offer whenever he desired it.

“What are you doing on my bed?” he asked Zen, as though the cat could answer. Zen simply yawned and curled himself up snugly on Avon’s pillow. Avon considered moving him but decided it probably wasn’t worth it. Zen would only fuss. Avon had better things to do.

It was his first proper night in the room and although it was a silly, sentimental feeling, Avon found that he felt … excited. Pleased even. He’d collected all of the rest of his things from the old flat himself, not wanting anybody else to see it again. He wouldn’t miss the place. It was so good in Blake’s - _his_ room. There was space to put things, a clean smell to the place. He was just … comfortable there.

Slowly, he changed then got into the bed, telling himself that he wasn’t enjoying the feeling of snuggling down. Zen promptly left his pillow and crawled down to sit on his stomach.

“Does Blake let you get away with this?”

Zen started purring. Avon rolled his eyes and took his book from the bedside table. As Blake’s flat actually had working central heating, he had actually borrowed a few crime books from the library. He had finally reached the Ds.

He grew drowsy quickly and was reaching for the light switch when someone tapped gently at his door.

“Avon?”

“What?” he asked, a little annoyed. Blake opened the door and smiled at him in a slightly guilty way.

“Sorry. Is it all right if I put Orac in here? I want to watch a film and he sometimes attacks the screen. He’ll go to sleep when you turn the light off.”

“If you must,” Avon said coolly. Blake dropped Orac on the bed next to Zen. Zen immediately reached out a paw, hooked it around Orac and began to wash him. Orac began to purr, apparently pleased. Blake smiled in a slightly soppy fashion. Avon raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll keep the volume low,” Blake said. “Let me know if it’s too loud.

“Oh, I will, Blake.”

Blake gave a small snort, as though Avon’s answer wasn’t at all surprising to him. He pulled the door closed and a few moments later, Avon could hear the low hum of the television. It wasn’t very disturbing though. In fact, it was rather a nice noise, a friendly one. Better than listening to the neighbours on the left fighting or having passionate make-up sex. Or listening to the neighbour on the right crying about things that Avon didn’t want to know about.

He turned off the light and curled up in his soft bed. After a moment, he felt Orac and Zen settle down too, still faintly purring to themselves. Another nice noise.

Avon told himself that he shouldn’t get foolish. There were so many things that could go wrong, that _would_ go wrong. This wasn’t his house, it was Blake’s house, Blake had all the power, he could throw Avon out whenever he wanted to, could use Avon …

But the thoughts were fleeting. He felt warm and comfortable and settled and sleepy. Blake was a fool but he seemed to be a fair fool. He wouldn’t do anything that Avon couldn’t deal with. Avon could deal with anything anybody threw at him.

It would all work out fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am definietely planning on a sequel to this, although I don't know absolutely when it will emerge - I hope not too long but fic sometimes can be stubbron so I'm making no promises! Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos, I'm really glad people have been enjoying this!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Superb Plot With Exciting Development Opportunities (The Coffee Shop Liberator Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6256495) by [Unsentimentalf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf/pseuds/Unsentimentalf)




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